In the vast barren wasteland a sea of sand dances in wind,
Its sandy form won't be bound or tamed by magical spell.
With deceitful smile, in gentle guise, drawing close with caress,
Shows one face, reveals another—such is quicksand's way!
Each grain of sand delicate yet fierce, appearing as it seems,
Gives no hold, takes no hold—so stubborn, so terribly proud.
Its pull enchants beyond measure, bringing death with tender care,
In different forms it calls you near, widens circles, releases sight into deep wells,
With love it draws you to its breast, pulls you down in powerful spell.
To blind eyes such mesmerizing beauty strikes, the heart forgets in magic's web,
When delay comes and I understand how death is pulling me,
The mistake that made me truly forget—in that forgetting, life ends.
Whoever survives quicksand's labyrinth
never yields to deceitful enchantment.
Death recognizes death only when it comes—not before, so foolish!
Before that, quicksand's stolen birth awakens intoxication, draws life.
Dry sand finds no companion—no mask after all; that lone hand reaches out,
No one comes with even a smile, sand falls and lies carelessly on the path. Such is fate!
Without calling out loud and near,
silent suffering gathers in the heart—
calm sand's simple survival is just like this.
Each grain in the sand pile has a different shape,
because it would catch, it doesn't pull close, stays free by letting go.
To kill, it pulls terribly near, brings close
keeping its true form hidden. Such is quicksand's nature.
Sand's body keeps marks in footprints, carefully in its breast.
Though it preserves everyone's traces, no one preserves its trace,
How easily they let sand's mark scatter in neglect—what game is this of destiny's goddess!
Quicksand's cruelty leaves no mark, with deceptive eyes seeks death, binds with beauty.
No one understands sand's worth, scorned sand in terrible rage moves away,
Trapped in quicksand's clever snare, caught in enchantment, life weeps in death's melody.
The Trap
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