Introduction: I have reached a reconciliation with a wind and no longer yearn for distant places.
Unwavering tenderness until death
- The Spirit Recluse
Opening ten fingers didn't give birth to you
What do I take to love you, my child
Every inch of the skin of the body is crying
Through the thorns of the jungle
I also waded through the hot magma
At three o'clock in the morning in the corridor of the hospital
Serenity is like a lengthy echo
Reverberates in endless distances
In this moment
I went back to my hometown
I crawled in the dirt
In a hot and dry cement house
Sucked in the fishy smell of dirt
Who's going to say goodbye to me
It doesn't matter anymore
From tomorrow's tomorrow
When my breasts swell and hurt
I will use it to feed my man
He hasn't drunk real milk yet
The real milk is a golden rainbow
Stretching between thousands of rivers and mountains
The world is one child after another is born
It was also one child after another
I reconciled with a wind
No longer yearning for faraway places
I also surrendered to the temptation of the sun
Not to compete with him for favors, but to acknowledge yourself
Your own self is still yourself
It is difficult to reach yourself after a lifetime of preparation
After all, this is a war without enemies
After all, it was a lively silence
After all, this is a consolation of self-revolution
Come on, yourself!
If I can't believe myself
Nor will I go crazy like Nietzsche
Nor will he kill God as he did
There is no enemy war
What is needed is the courage to lie back in your womb
Regenerate yourself again
Men, take a look
This is your original world
Just a bag size location
Your desire to wreak havoc on women
Eventually it will be dried on the wasteland
Turns into an impatient grain of sand
Whimper with the wind
My grandmother said to me
The red other side of the flower blooms in hell
White flowers bloom in heaven
You see, my man
Both hell and heaven have my tenderness
I will give me to you to the death
Give it back to the world
For the final lost
Leave a moving revelation
If I had a child
I don't care about his daimyo
I only care about his name
His name is -- up.
Poetry of independent scholars, writers, and artists.