Some retell the past with pictures,
Paintings have been a memory of the strange ways,
Never do tastes shudder at the news of the rules
That are laws of the opposite side,
Knowing a wintry and silver light.
Some say the brief ideas of an icy road
Succulently combine into the numbers fresh
With anxiety, words have formed without you,
Words are worlds of the heavenly ways;
Let those who desire a latitude be there.
I command people to listen and preach
To their enemies, like the friendships of the
Paintings they have adorned their walls,
Such murals merge with the memories
Of any sort of absent sense of mind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem