I'm sitting silently
With burning smell of my the heart...
God has drunken the smell of heart's burnt
And to be going to sleepy!
Befor sleep God told me, I am tired!
Need and want a little calmness in your shelter...
Then God once slept...
And I pick up the stick of God
And I become God
Then still beside me, God is sleeping....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I pick up the stick of God ...beside me, God is sleeping! ! ! ! yeah; maybe perhaps this " I" the wicked person; " pick up" - govern the entire world and the " God" is sleeping- the good doer under the stressful subjugation! ! /// ironical