Nothing's worse than the sin of a poet,
Even if their tongues plead to be forgiven,
The soul's pain collects the pleasure when they sow it,
And rejoices in it when in the heart of a dirge it's driven.
Nothing's worse than a poet that sins,
They see the scars in their souls eye to eye,
In mutating portraits with burning falling skins,
And then a trophy on their tombstones when they die:
''A Majestic Poet That Sinned, Died and Lived to a Soulful Cry''
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem