So many deaths, so many corpses,
So much havoc and so much ruins everywhere-
Perhaps walking upon them,
We may reach the main gate of our dream,
After which there remains the green room of success–
What after that?
Tell, after that, where will we go?
Only the hawks, the vultures and the kites
Fly in the vast blue sky.
The hungry foxes cry on the life’s high way.
That cry fetches the white wild ugly crows
In flocks.
Men’s ears cannot hear any more
The songs of cuckoos.
Men’s eyes cannot see any more
The green forests; only they see
A burning hell with no trees, with no flowers.
Perhaps crossing this hell,
We will earn that success
Which is often uttered by our lips and souls-
And what after that?
Tell, after that, where will we go?
The success in which there lies the blood of men;
The success in which the civilization gets scattered,
disabled and indigent;
The success in which there rise the sufferings
And disasters of men;
The success in which innumerable corpses of men
Lie down upon the paths of the world;
Perhaps getting excited with that success,
A long procession may be run on streets,
Or standing upon those corpses,
A victorious anthem may be sung with pride-
But what after that?
After that, will we still remain the human race?
After that, will we still bear the human minds
Within our hardest bosoms?
Or will we, in the long run, become
The two-legged detestable beasts?
