The famous rule the world like words of the biblical passages,
Their paths cross and elaborate the virtuous world with messages;
One remembers the fame of the obliged one who displays sacredness,
His faith guarantees us with its pleasure, as the faith mourns and cries.
This ruler of the earth sustains another leisured group of people
Called a country, a country then tries and tires according to his wit.
Then the fame of so many centuries gazes at the past with open eyes,
Felt by the sleepy heads, felt too harder than the rest of the peace.
This fame is procured by medicine of the former years, it breathes taking
The death toll to thousands, as the weepers and lepers are never cured.
Once the death rate is sounding high, a famous man is like a guardsman
Of the south and north, the west and east, so that he moves according to his wit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem