The prime problem accosted the solution,
Saying truth and all the souls of laughter.
For lenient pure people are proud of their origins,
Powerful roots are of the boredoms
As solving is the past affair.
Righteous kings dream of the heavenly castles,
Spending their gases and liquids with gestures,
Prime numbers debate with secondary causes
To arrive at something, but kings are of the illnesses,
Feeding their cares with lives of the wars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem