At last, the passerby stopped before a wagon
That was perhaps making a journey somewhere.
He took a long breath to say something,
As if his outcries would never cease.
Like the glittering waves of the ocean,
Dancing in the spray and puffy clouds,
Never ending its race to arrive at the door
Of life, for the destiny of the kingdom,
Where humans flourish, causing decay and destruction—
To die and disintegrate like pearls of the morning flower,
Glittering in the sun, twinkling in the moonlit night.
Men may come and go, but the earth rolls on;
There is a channel to move forward and decline,
In the true sense of the race toward
The doors of heaven and hell.
Just in time for a final expedition,
The soul is immortal and never dies,
Though actions and reactions are forgotten by man.
The luminous spirit is snatched by foes,
Laid in place, and never forsaken—
Like Faustus or Mephistopheles,
Or in the order of Lucifer, the soul is torn and thrown
Into hell, burning hereinafter.