The whole of contemplation is upon us
When we drift to a trance of monumental kind.
This is prayer, the whole of imagination,
When invocation and supplication coexist.
Slow and quick is the trend, knowing the detours of thoughts,
Like the buffeting of air molecules
Or the tranquil calm sea.
A tremor resounds in my bed, in the layers of pain
Is a pleasurable tremor of pain.
Meditate only on this, where peace may prevail,
And faithful happiness arrives.
Forcing us concentration skill
The meditative stance arises from practice.
Peace has finally forced itself from over contemplation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem