Painting a man on an elephant is like a meal eaten in silence,
But my emotions are unutterably towards you my love;
You are lonely in the bush of love oh Balthasar!
For the departure of the gentleman is seen around you.
It is not my speech but your insulted memory,
So you have to pick up the pieces together;
For the key to your love is on the table.
It is not my status-quo but your acts of love!
For you are now lost in the field of love and,
You are not worthy to be devoted as my First lady.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem