I can report an anecdote in history of geography,
Inside this misdemeanour is a fortunate occurrence;
Ghouls and spirits of the dead collide with the heart
And want hiding for their ill-conceived plans.
Many dispel other people with their frowns and abuses,
Groaning in this life with death at the heels.
I can conceive of no justice other than this one,
Lusts are worth the compromise, truths hurt more.
This incident, this act of a poltergeist on a ration,
Made me extinguished, for I am a ghost or actor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem