I take in all beauty, no longer scared,
On misty paths my further spring is adjusted.
It is filling my jug of water and wine,
The blessed well works well and fine.
I take in all futile wars, I make all passes,
My mysteries are numberless but innocent.
I imbue a printed book, a cruel summer,
As my misty savage creature frowns upon me.
I stop reading, I stop creating my senses,
For the taken spectacle is a taken hiss,
A straightforward greatest miracle, of the times
We live, we engineer according to mathematics.
I take in all beautiful boys and girls, all souls,
Weather is always on their side, frowning is profound.
I must forsake the heads and hearts of stagnant men,
Filling up the jug of water, the cup of heaven.
Wine shall flow forth in rivers of menace,
As the drinking is the reposing, and the rise is the run.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem