Your sense is prodigious when you are
A professor of likes and dislikes, the imagined
One creates a family of scholars, the real
One demands a sacred right, one of them
Is tonight in the clouds with books of gold.
The books of silver encrust the hearts,
Silver is as you know it, silver crosses
The liquid and solid, cricket is burnt.
The sports are like the books of gauzes
And shining steel, one of the alacrities.
Your profession is a teacher to you,
My solids are the imaginations,
Your drama is your fervour and passion
For all professors in this realm under
God’s own supervision, inside a real deed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem