Moving faster than the speeds 
Of the light and sound, 
My mind ruptures through its seams
And encounters the awful feelings
As if descending into the ditch 
Of gloom and its gloominess
Under my steady feet: 
Neither I'd sunk
Into the ditch beneath
Nor  turned up
To the crest of the ditch.  
My craving of living 
Only in the garden of rapture
Blossomed and flourished 
In the gentle fragrances 
Confronts only the two routes: 
One to the hills laden with
The bushes of thorns and
Another to the crossroad with
The shattered glasses stiff like a saw.
Where I'd set my steps in? 
My awareness grasped in
Bliss and delight is
So scorching and searing 
Either as the fiery sun 
Or the icy moon. 
The skins all over my body
Scorched with the appalling feeling 
Concealed in the annihilation: 
Like a corn pod with no corn
Enfolded in the corn leaves. 
*                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    