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Poem

For I grew weary of my life I went as drifting water,
and flowed only to the lower land to see the world open to the main, however, since drifting water is no one but my own, the world within me is troublesome as before.

For I just cannot stand there and watch the heap of obscenities so tall, 
for it is over and above my capacity to bear the pile of corruptions 
so heavy, I wished to become a puff of cloud drifting high above, 
and move along to the out of boundary of the world, and thereby 
live like hermit, disregarding all the worldly matters, 

however, my heart’s desire is not for others but my own, 
the filthiness and the depravities are, even though 
I become a puff of cloud and drifting along, 
the mind of my own.

In order to endure the terrible moment of a vicious circle,
in order to ignore the detestable life that never ends,
let myself entrusted to the time, which never will to cease

and walk on the darkness-gathering beach, however, for the footmarks 
washed away by surf were not of anyone else but of my own weight,
the every step I take therefore, the footmarks imprinted on the sand therein, 
is no one else but my own detestable life’s circles.

Is the reason I lived too long urging me to feel I do understand?
Or the reason I abandoned myself makes me think I do understand?
though very little known, from the great many unknowns in my heart in this trice.

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