Love is a thought of the diverging numbers,
Love speaks to the ironies of a living life;
What causes you to love in the ways of men?
My thorn is deeply embedded, so speak and
Lose the love of a thousand generations;
Many nails embed their weight for the saints.
Like the irony of a blessing too far,
One is sweeter than the pebbles of gold,
One is also relentless like religion righteous.
It saves me silently, love has juice of justice,
Forget the worries of the food at heart,
And digest me in stomachs mightily heaving.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem