In Hope of Light

I've heard that going to people, one finds light.
All I want is a glass of light, light!
A glass full of light I'll gulp down in one swig, pouring it into my depths.
From throat to chest, chest to arteries, then vein by vein!
Bubbling, that light will bloom in my blood, in my blood.

The worms that have settled in my blood need a remedy; I want to liquefy the clotted blood, warm the frozen blood.
Then I too will hoard light's treasure, I too will sell light!
Will I still be human then?

In this hope for light, I go from door to door.
Look there—in the courtyard, so many light-bearers are selling light. Sunbathing, are they? When the light grows taut, will they hold it again? I too need light, just one glass of light! But why, when I come near, is there such...such buzzing of flies and putrid, rotten stench?

What is that thing wrapped in light like a pen nib? Such smoke you only see from a gun barrel! Something just burst from the barrel, it seems!
What I thought was light—is it then a mirage, an illusion? All I want is light. Light that bubbles and blooms, hibiscus-red or blue-throated light, light ringed with devotion, light of longing!

All I want is one glass of light, or one belly-full of light!
Over there, that way, perhaps...