Pain of the poet gets lighter by the golden drop of dew
 And the scattered sparks of flint of impeccable beauty; 
You become a colorful grasshopper sitting on a China-rose
You become the glow of sprouted youth burning with lust.
One day even the white moon sinks into the black cave; 
The butterfly loses its beautiful wings
In failure the blue neuron plunges into the turbulent sea.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem