On the mantelpiece is placed a clock,
Forcing a smell too plain, with an aftershock.
The clock demands a light so bright,
Time flows designing a living of delight.
This room has ornaments too beautiful,
A clock grows largely from the Most Merciful.
The time of change has arrived from Him,
The death of a room is lingering, like a pseudonym.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem