Those who stagnate are foolish.
A black feather has fallen,
gently and lightly, onto my fingertips.
Since you are a tale,
you can still be rewritten many times,
for the blood ink will never parch up.
Our true selves, unknown to anyone,
are the ones capable of changing this dwindled world.
What we have been seeking
is not something as petty as happiness.
Fight! With your pounding heartbeats being your signal,
if you advance as you please,
there will be no limit to how far you can go.
Resist! Even if we writhe in pain from repeated defeats,
onto the scars covering our bodies, let's engrave our dreams.
In order prevent our present memories from being buried,
we must head towards tomorrow.
Holding on to our elegant frailty,
can it be that we're merely botched dolls
from God's work of artistic creation?
Nevertheless, having transcended both heaven and hell,
our hearts will reach our bosoms.
I'll be content
when I get to close my eyes for good.
Fight! Our confluent cries will be our oath.
The strength we have brought together
is even more sacred than love.
I wish to seize the sword that will deliver the final blow.
Let me brandish the point of my sword that penetrates all.
There, light will gather and saturate,
and hope will be nurtured.
I wish to perceive the meaning
of living and life
as taught by my pounding heartbeats.
Resist! Even if we writhe in pain from repeated defeats,
(Have faith in the strength of our unfathomed selves,)
onto the scars covering our bodies, let's engrave our dreams!
I wish to guard the sword that will deliver the final blow.
(I wish to seize what I will have in my hand in the very end.)
Let me brandish the point of my sword that penetrates all.
Then, my body will be showered
with the gathering and saturating light,
and a white feather will finally have fallen,
gently and lightly, onto my fingertips.
The visitors have fallen silent.