The honesty of death is in my possession
As the tune of lyrics astounds me in this sense;
I hear a voice too hardly in existence,
Its slur and faults study me at the same time.
One’s grave has been visited by the tonnes of fragments,
Internal directions are also instructions for those in
Death, those who concern their souls in fires and ices.
All of the honesty of death is of life,
Leaving their heavenly splendour in hope
Of it; the real weapon is the giant of life,
Life martyred me in the same existence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem