I slipped words as I went up the normal tree,
As I approached the shadow of my house,
Like a bird doing wrong to the masses,
Inserting kindness to the eldest or delicious.
I saw an additional screen while begetting the
Notes arranged on the door to victory;
Too many times on the hours of fortitude my heart
Sank into parades of the inner dimensions.
The desolation of my father's heart
Knew why my brother's death had been jarred
Like jam of the prospects,
Like political prophets in action and thought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem