The soldiers may look to their good souls,
In the senses we meet a capital city,
For in the senses we seek a joiner of faiths.
The leaders of golden hideous rages are
Finding their way to the blackboard of chalk.
The silver trees seem to brake and surge
In growth that masters the open storms.
Those with electric energy are faultless,
Winning the wayward warriors from columns.
My soldier is against the authorities of gold,
Offending the truth with defenders of the faiths.
I see many rivers in the wild trees,
I saw many symptoms of distress in peoples.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem