Do not adapt to the changes in this lane,
The aborted sins of our fathers are scary;
They abide beneath the streams of your deeds,
Achieving the real aches of a day.
To abide in the reality forces me to think
Of wages and wealth, toil and health;
What do people think this day?
When scariness rides the wave, does the self?
Do not scare anyone, afterwards,
And say the relief of a hundred generations,
Accuse nobody above the realm.
This day exactly undoes the days preceding it,
But scaring someone is committing a sin after sin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem