For what Have I traded a month of peregrine's flight over
a stretch of the blue sky of Japan
to be enchained and self-shamed, and in feverish phantom pain
to roam the ever-lasting and ever-prolonging
the green, deep and illness-ridden field of Zhongyuan
the Northen Chinese central plain?
what fear have had we, Mongol steppe's horse-archers---
against the rabies of invisible tigers from the Hindu jungle?
In illness, pain, death…tipsy sweet, well-drunk in mortal follies
the rider rideth forth. passing over the horizon he is to be seen no more after today.
the ill poet grows old and becomes, set upon by senility and diseases.
in his home-town would've returned, bed-RIDDEN. but soon to die and go anywise…passing over--
the horizon, he is to be seen no more after tomorrow.
I miss the yonder shore with spider lilies in summer at full bloom
bloody red and I bloody dead, the blue mist widespread over the low wetland of 20 year old's youth----
but shame and bondage I'd have brought in old age if I should go now or tomorrow
---all over myself. Ah, if in death I were to have spent up all the money and energy in living and living on.
And left myself not even 2 pieces of Zeni 銭 to pay the well-endowed Japanese Charon
dozing off on her boat in the middle of Stygian flow, while not seeing one by one the flowers of the season die----but
how sweet it would be…were to have been, in Hell and still alive,
dreaming yet for another day, another night! 
and mayhap one day above Death fly as high as a peregrine kite!
beyond the blueness of this all-transient shore! Wider Gezeit--- No more!
For the rider upon the clouds knoweth---beyond the high most paradise there shan't be
ever the fear of being unable to yet find another
---fiery firmament-made shore!