I must stay with adult fire interplaying with the soul,
I must desiccate my fingers in this burning flame;
But why does the hotness of this world be so dim?
The punishment in the afterlife may even be no charm.
Dim fires expand in this world, to engulf all flowers
And beautiful ideas, going to the corners of the atlas,
Fastening to the ice ready to melt it; then the world
Is destroyed with dying, plague and deadly affairs.
My soul is at play, working with ideas, idioms and icons;
Many souls worsen the plots, lands grow fitter than words,
As serfs are expelled, fires are catapulted into the chasms;
A ravine embarks in the ground, a cliff is torturing the soul.
I must say with adult fire, when childhood has happened
Already. The children are mine, the women of the earth
Derive their thoughts from fiery herdsmen, shepherds
Seem softer with their directives and speeches and flocks.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem