One loves the memory acquired,
One hates the residence of a thought,
But where do we live in thoughts?
May we walk among fools in unity,
But gain the upper hand with love
And attention so that foolish men go.
The thought of a dozen suns is greater
Than the thinker who thinks alike,
That morbid partaker of thoughts that endear.
To endure the thinking crowd we die,
And then we live, and then we die,
To further our work to the other worlds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem