The search for freedom in the nature

Beneath the lenses of my aviator specs,                                                                                                              Exists a surface colored like bonito flakes.                                                                                                       The big cyan sky rushes to infinity.                                                                                                                           The marine copies it, losing its identity.                                                                                                                    If man could be like this sky and that sea then,                                                                                                There'll be no odds of our freedom to go again.  

The land develops crimson clover, lavender,                                                                        potato, mustard, cotton, and assorted splendor.         
 Moreover tis the abode to dead along alive.                               
It doesn’t afraid and dares portray itself as versatile.                                  
If man could be like this soil, enduring all conditions,                           
 Then only they can be exempt from all intuitions.
                                                  
The dam divided the river into two.                                            The river is lamenting, causing woe.                                           The water has become transparent and white.                                                              What an absurd, attention-riveting sight!                                                                          Division, rift, partition, riot, separation.                                              Actually can never cause complete liberation.