O my Lord, sitting on the highest hills!
Clean my heart please, of the tales of fools
Who feign as goddesses and drain away
good thoughts and efforts sincere from my mind.
Why you make my pitiful heart and mind
to be the preys of the cheating fairies
Who hurl on with maxims of the learned,
stolen from the stores of the marvels of phones
and show themselves as the prudent persons
to tempt the true and pre-empt their possessions
of material kinds and deep thoughts of minds.
One pretends as the paragon of virtues
and the other wants to be bathed in praises.
When they clutch any hold of the rich,
they beseech, preach and leach their valuables.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem