Going to God we mutter our praise
Of His Majesty, like a king of kings
He induces your love and magnifies
The height from gravity, due to atoms
Under the feet, under the ground of sweet.
Sugar grows like a fountain spurting more
And more water, for the taste is deadly
As the pleasure is immense, like the heavenly
Spirits residing on Earth, without the faces
And within the bodies of clay.
For the godly man speaks for an adjacent time,
In present moods we speak like a judge
Of the governing few, who stole the gold from
Nice ways of the people, the same people
Who thought of brainy joys and sayings.
Sweet work is for the godly men of understanding,
The same fear arises due to the duty of the Death;
Seat yourself in your throne, so that a higher throne
Removes the unwanted elements of ores confined
In the soul, at the back and in the front.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem