О том, как подали неспелый арбуз (джен)

I had a vision of tomorrow,

It was a day beneath the sky

Of time not knowing sorrow,

Of the highest windy fly.

It was a point of the story

Of endless fight with strife and fear,

The golden hymn of glory

And epitaph of death to hear.

The sun was radiating everywhere,

From tiny atoms of the worlds

The new beginning was created

Distant from the ancient molds.

Such a vision is unborn,

Could it happen on some day?

Shadow masks will be worn

Until we throw them off this way.