Truths are truths that beleaguer falsehood,
Is it a gift? Or is it a poem?
Either way, you must be grateful like the cupbearer,
Issuing thanks from the thirst embracing your spirituality.
Guide us through the times, geese will follow,
But where is the stain of purity?
The child in me is without a mirror to chance the life,
To risk a pure cause, a deliberate delight.
It is my thanks that overpowers my losing,
Their moment is like the gun that hides its pant,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem