By the being of houses that stretch towards the sky,
We enter the writing of a man who is a lever of teaching.
By the reading of books talked about by chalk and board,
We enter a realm of swords and sorcery too truthful and hard.
By this soul that encounters a strange horizontal bridge,
We stagger and state the words of a speech too punishing.
With this movement of the entire earth, and the souls contained,
A religion of humanity regains the reward of the voyage.
It is inside the righteous help, it is outside the reality of books,
That books of considered volume depict the strange occurrences.
This sculpture is a ground or water, a speech or motion,
The whole figure gasps at us, pray like a world in slumber.
My soul is a ground or floor, a reader of books bouldered,
My brightness shines from my intelligence gained by books.
Let yourself be a muse of the polite policy, engaging in heights
Of learning, that encompass the ceiling of this united being.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This sculpture is a ground or water, a speech or motion, whole things are grasped by amazing book reader. Brilliantly penned poem is shared here.10