Holy words are goodness from epitome,
Holy men walk along the steel pathway;
I have some of the religions in me
But one of the regions are called golden.
Words are above worthless objections,
They are opening the sides of a rectangle in half,
Like the holiness of circles and squares
That adjust in size and fold to resent us.
We are materialist in our outings of finery,
Joust then me in matters concerning regions,
Joust me in the concerned religions,
So I partake in them without breathing lastly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem