I am never conquered by the flute of immortality,
They wage war on the definite souls of integrity,
But immortals win in lustre and might, and so
The flowers and towers burgeon brightly,
And so the too innocent men and women work.
I would show you the results of a generation,
With artificial minds and wonderful habits,
In a state of dissent, in a gate of application.
The cage causes us to utter a bulb of hate,
A cage is a rage for the unlimited umbrellas.
The wing of light is a religion of movement,
I have fright of the dozing minorities,
Then sighs are introduced to the final minotaur,
Who imports a denizen of the deep hindrance,
The maze is called a labyrinth that never doubts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem