In this confusion my moments are thoughts,
Ringing and wrongs complain from the heart
When my blood runs deep into the bones.
You are like my inner straight path, a follower
Finds the fanatic in himself, a disciple deals
With his master with a bone to the heart.
It is love that is the clothing of a frightful being,
Love entrances my beliefs as they progress into
A loving ritual, forever in jeers and praises.
In my confused being I contemplate, I dissipate,
And worries for the sense in the sight are abating
Dutifully, with draining of the heart's knowledge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem