Secluded life stings to the bone,
Opening the thrusts and accusations;
We feel like the emotions of the past,
Positions of strength are laid down in writing.
Books of strong appeal are awaking from the ground,
The graves are ill and can never be kept by weakness.
This life results in seclusion to see,
To hear the solitary life is allowed,
Cheering and shouting is afoot,
On the mountaintop is a result of cheapness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem