I’m a swift,
A piece of white paper,
A light cloud,
A windward sail…
When the morning sun rose,
I spat out the nipple of my mother,
And like a willful lark,
I sang loudly and darted into the blue sky.
I’m a sprightly swift,
Looking down at the mundane world in my flight.
Self-confident is God’s favored person,
Who can return to the blue sky even after falling to the ground.
I’m a piece of white paper coated with red and black ink,
With threads of fiber exposed to wind and frost,
Crying no longer for the loss of innocence,
With the only hope
That the lines extending into the future
Will be a record of truth.
I’m a floating light cloud,
Carrying boundless blue fantasies,
Escaping the muddy mortal world,
Robed in the splendid morning glow.
I’m a windward sail,
Filled by the cool sea breeze,
Bearing up for the distant future,
Loaded with a heavy burden,
And a firm devotion to Attic faith.
When the curtain of dusk hung low on the earth,
I yelled out beside myself:
The universe should forever be bright with hope,
And who would enjoy a gloomy and cold darkness?