Like the lily on water surface
As all part is floating
So pitiful death is always done,
It has taken my right
As always it reappears
Like a ghostly market,
In it heart to heart the living lasts,
Of soul soaring in the air, and
More! More and more
Like Oliver twist in the making
The souls she keeps on asking
Yes!
It is market as round palms
Sibs to share ideals
In telling their death
Did pass forever
To take the fate of our robs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem