Once only a heavy weight, staring are the ears,
With eyes straining, over the shoulders is a calamity.
Golden beyond the wrists, my arms shadow my body,
I am a wolf of design, habit; I am a dirty man of dogs,
It is light that dies, it is night that cries,
This enacts a play from a playwright
Who dances on the stage where darkness
Fades into light, as lightning has faith,
You know why I saw the company,
Not through my seizures but my acts,
Not throughout the energies but by myself.
Some of us never stop dreaming,
Some of us never stop breathing,
But where are the men of goals and children?
Baking the apples, shall we sleep with wanted kisses,
Men can equal the golden beings of light,
My love is sacred so it works through the soul.
I have enough of your wealth and prosperity,
I have enough of your deliberate kindness.
Who has had his secret in the perishing soul?
Offering peace to the straightforward man is secretive,
I utter knowledge to the heart of the origins of men.
Why do you search for him in the dust and yellow ocean?
Truths are truths that beleaguer falsehood,
Is it a gift? Or is it a poem?
Either way, you must be grateful like the cupbearer,
Issuing thanks from the thirst embracing your spirituality.
When the rains swim towards their arrangement,
Then man will conduct his affairs with severity.
A speaker entails a whisper, through the days of
He forgave me over his revelation,
His knowing was exalted by my position,
My life was spared, my life was a mercy,
It shone from one book to another like light.