1. You desire a life whose turns you do not feel
And blame the aiming of a long bow and its tension

2. I grieve for you as sorrow engulfs you
And for me who created the most wretched sorrows

3. We are both assiduous and persevering
Stepping toward purposes in shackled strides

4. As if time had written our lives
With the coldest ink of darkness as its margin

5. And as if its lines, due to the enormity of the horror
Of what convulses the scattered bare hills

6. I used to believe in life and its goodness
In the shade of the coldest days of youth

7. But today I disbelieve in bliss as if I were
A blind man relying on what might guide him

8. And I extend to the world a severed hand
And slip where a bound stumbling blocked me

9. And I wander gathering unpruned thorns
When I plucked the harvest of swaying branches

10. Our nights have all turned into autumn
My grief over scattered wishful leaves

11. What good is a life whose climaxes have wilted
And their leaves dropped into hands

12. As if He who encompassed the universe justly
Does not care if we had existed or not

13. What good will my discontent and annoyance do
With life, or what good will my perseverance do?

14. So turn back to the self that objected
Though its breaths have not ceased

15. And admit worries if they come as ends of verses
That make you forget the burden of their stagnant shadows

16. Like a child screaming in the dark so that perhaps
He may forget his fears if you do not drive them away