I continue my dying when I’m in a paper
In this paper I change to be a sailor
I dream of paper as an ocean of life 
Of nobody’s ever destiny 
I close the tiny eyes of world
Of eyes of sufferings belongs three realms 
Within boundless of sky and ocean 
I would be a capital of myself 
I would be a god of myself 
I continue my dying
Until it reach to the top of suffering 
Or truth of path                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    