Guesses are correct according to the saints,
Answers are solved this way, from complaints.
Why do saints question and interrogate us?
Is it due to being dangerous?
On the boats of danger we float, dividing
Like the cells that originated us, accumulating.
Many songs of danger and many views are gained,
Only the leaders of religion can be bloodstained.
These guesses are called estimations of worth,
Where there is commotion there is earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem