She stood on the board,
Painted black, whole on
Wall as a gospel of,
Fear and gored into,
The deepness of inhumanity,
Of my evils of the eternity.
The stony and nuanced eyes,
Through the showing,
A sky full and a tired from,
Wholeness of this rascal world.
The mentor of the shadows,
Over the neck seems to be a man
Who had the searness of the love.
I grouched at first at love,
For this is only painted and'
Not the real world of mine,
Why should i be old at youth,
And growl at self whenever,
Happy i am, which is scarce!
But know, i remember,
My grouch was a fail,
Why should not weep at me?
Not at the mural that,
Lies on the wall, dropping
A single drop tears,
Although bound to face,
It told me not to woe for long,
Ever you die for love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem