This place is consecrated, I am flustered
By you, who works wonders on my essence;
A fluorescent lamp manages tightly to be answered,
By the rooms of graveness, ones with affluence.
The flung lamp recognises us with intelligence,
We are sapient as an appearance of solidity;
Intellectual work or my line of business is an annoyance,
Licking the time, I swallow this alkalinity.
This place is consecrated due to us being pious,
Safety is a flyer of heaven, full of heaven;
The rooms of danger are not too featureless,
Fearful work has happened with a curtain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem