Insult

An evil's pushing in,

And a wicked voice of the vicious stubbornness

is tattering the air with its blade,

just as it slices the raw fish and takes

 

Its aim is

to tear down

and to defeat into the lower part.

 

The fragility

and the cowardice

are your favorite objects.

 

However,

the hurts festered by your play

are taken

become diluted

and are absorbed

by the new immune power.

 

The another cheerfulness finally springs up.

 

I will swallow you up,

I will tread you down,

I will penetrate you,

After all,

I will stand up

wherever, whatever, whenever.

 

Rather than

I am melded down by pulpiness with taffy

and I become a feast for a moment as being imprisoned in the securing house under the warm sun,

 

You,

who should finally be killed in me,

forgotten in me,

are only my object.