You tearfully remorse over selling shops,
Infant splendour is always on the streets;
They tearfully put to you questions,
Lying in the meantime, cooking their meals.
When I dropped a tear, the first looking man
Came and moved away to some residence.
Now the return, now the stinging pain,
Of the whole streets destroying and calling.
I see anger in the eyes of heaven,
Hell has a wrath more but less like the oddness.
We see a liar in the midst of flames
Dying in the light of the fires and storms.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem