It was hard to pass into the valley,
Trapped by hills and the fallen magnets there.
Each has an attraction, as if pulled by a lodestone;
I have known the place since my visit.
Walking on the icy land seems hard and painful;
At every moment, my knuckles are grazed with frostbite,
Strengthening the biting stress that intones life’s race.
It is my diary, stitched in the mind with rock salt
And mixed with the meadow in cooking pots.
Rather than moving on electric strips
To overcome the hurdles of a mind facing risks,
I walk beneath the stretched roots of the trees.
In the dark ocean, a shark is angrily tethered,
Grasping all its enemies at a glance.
Saturn and Jupiter are aligning to banish them
From the earth and water of the deep Atlantic Ocean.
Like the sweet voice in the dreams of a lady
Who is unmarried but immersed in the moon,
My diary offers messages to take action.
For the meadow upon the soil where nature flourishes,
Day and night, lively leaves grow on the plants
To produce shades of everlasting peace hereafter.