I was dressed in a pale yellow robe that wondered
At my being so blessed by those who survey,
And a condition was noticed on my chin, that burned.
She shuddered as she applied the thin-lipped mouth
Blending with the innocence of some great gate.
A sardonic smile was twisted after so many times of great
Gates, opening into a darkened mind of a face.
She glanced up at me, with proper distinction in the fires,
Eyes seemed to pierce the light, escaping was scurvy
And all the cancers concealed by the pen and pencil.
A moment later, the sardonic faces that remarked were erased,
As a man from new plagues cleared a whole time of deeds.
Being in this space, we owned our own thoughts to find
A work of the greatest purity, fulfilling some doer of good.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem