I mean I muttered, too finally
To myself as the wind turned to snow;
This barbarous act became the normal
Work of a devil incarnate, selfish creature.
The wind was the windy devil, the slight
Imposter of the sand and rain, a feeble
Actor of the highest dilemma, as the final
Work revolved around the earth as it stays.
The windy devils congratulated their fire,
They absorbed the sins of a countless people,
All their hats and armies fostered belief
In the destruction of the devils and demons.
I began to mutter ever to myself about the sin
Residing in some earthquaked hearts, believing
In something to support the awe that may carry
Their souls to a different place, where the wind never
Blows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem