My Father

In the esse of his soul,
I have found the goal.

He adores.The price,he is still giving.
So inside the burning head the dream is still living!

Purity of the broken heart,always cries a lot…
though passes by the treasure,but never tried a shot.

But sometimes sharpness of the knife
is become blunt in the interrogation of life.

In his old fought days,
I see no mistake,though the bad fate says-
The wrong is along day and night,
he tries to establish the right.

I see- for the clouds,the earth denies the sun.
I see- for me he deceives the continuous run.

So just to sustain in the fight…
On the rock,I want to see
few droplets of old whiskey!