The primitive impulse rushed out of my forehead, like rushing out of the city gate and rushing to the open space in front of the dark and limited forest.
This is the sky embracing the earth.
This is a man rushing to a woman.
Free, get carried away, lofty sentiments.
Politics, law, modern industrial civilization, judgment, reasoning, the meaning of splitting the mind, fell with my whip, and the stars drifted backwards with me.
I waved my broad arms and galloped freely in my heart. I am already a primitive chaos.
The goal ahead, the forest, is wonderfully soft like a woman, full of black mysteries, and I will find it.
I will fight endlessly, keep rushing forward and meet the tempering of the strong wind without fear.
Criticism, misunderstanding, and tortuous years, let it go with the wind, like dust.
My brilliance will light up the world!
At this time, my heart is like a bright moon.
But I won't thank you, Whitman. I won't thank you.
You let me hang the light of the day in the dark night sky, and I am clear-headed. That coolness belongs to me and will remain unchanged for thousands of years.
You are a cold autumn wind, and you can't stay if you want.
This is probably the last thing you want to say.
Tell me that people will come to me and leave without saying goodbye.
As dusk approaches.
The second is.
You are a poet, and you express it in words.
You are a beast of thought, and your face is as kind as a god.
You are sitting on the mountain of the universe and soul, spreading beautiful sounds.
As a result, the ocean boils and the air flow over the mainland turns from winter to spring.
The third is.
When I read your poem,
I wrote many poems.
Because my primitive impulse was aroused by you.
I don't have time to take care of those
Like yellow sand, it swept away all the people.
Leave the blue to the sky
You reminded me that I want to vent.
My blood is attracted by the full moon.
I spread out the manuscript paper before my eyes.
The hand holding the pen feels empty.
Like a raging sea.
The swallow that has been flying is asking questions.
Still like wandering in the rivers and lakes?
Describe the scenery in front of you.
Or plunge into the existence of more people?
More people's attention
Sing the most sincere song with the most sincere heart.
The young eagle on the cliff looks like a towering figure.
Fall from the sky and dive into the Woods below.
I picked up your poem again.
I can't let my heart get cold.
There is a river in the fierce flames.
From the forest, it will definitely flow into the land where people live in groups.
The eagle passed me and blamed me. He blamed me for talking and being late.
Stay late.
I am not docile at all, nor can I translate.
I gave a rude cry on the roof of the world.
The last sunshine of the day is reserved for me,
It throws my shadow behind other shadows and throws it like everyone else.
I'm in the dark wilderness,
It lures me to smoke and dusk.
I walked away like air and shook my head at the escaping sun.
A few locks of white hair,
I melted my body in the whirlpool and let it float in the lace-like cracks.
I give myself to the soil and let it grow on my beloved grass.
If you still need me, please find me under your boots.
You won't know exactly who I am and what I mean.
But for you, it will be good for your health.
It will also filter and enrich your blood.
If you can't find me for a while, please don't lose heart.
If you can't find a place, look elsewhere.
I always wait for you somewhere.