[Slightly literary version]
The source of the world, a purgatory.
The quiet mandala blooms quietly, shocking red, pale and feeble white, and midnight-like black.
Who said God is cowardly and mentally retarded? Who said God is extremely noble? Where is the destination of this faint ink-like "God"?
Night is coming and light is dissipating.
Light and darkness are inseparable, but they are also strangers.
Who sighs at the holiness of God, and who spits at the cold blood of darkness.
Everything, everything, will always have a destination.
Another edition
The end is a new world, and the beginning is ruthless betrayal.
Dependent origination and destruction, only in a moment. God may not be omnipotent, but he is certainly not weak.
Who knows that the world is ruthless, and who laments the vicissitudes of the world.
The beginning of ruthlessness is called affection, and the end is called ruthlessness.
Isn't God the same? What's cowardice is all lies, what's stupid is all slander.
God, the scheming is true, and the city is indeed deep.
Alternativeness is not nothing, she [he] is.
As pale as ink, a sigh, the world is desolate.
Purgatory is his [her] destination, and gods are his [her] burden.
For tens of millions of years, harmony has been false, but her [his] indifference is true.
Forever dark, hiding from the light. This is him [her].
Light as ink.
...