Fetch up and look up the holidays
Look the Sundays, here and there
Calculate a Saturday;
These are days of oxygen?
Amidst the weltering pressure of
The throttling martyrdom my enemies vowed
For this year each hour
Of those aforementioned days
Be a dower, as precious as the Orient
All its pearls, not just one, but all, all, all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem