Passing by a crematorium, I brood;
I always dream about beauties, but here alone,
Nothing can make your self and soul smile,
Only your acts perfect, for good by road.
You read your folder, closed;
Believe in ideas when moans draw your tear,
When natives are disgusted by stare,
Believe in ideas, you got from the blessed.
Believe akin to your faith, wises trained,
Believe in self and soul, life will excel bright and clear,
You will enjoy marvels from a blessed seer,
Believe in ideas, you feel righteous and hailed.
O Man! I will take you with me to my divine land;
Leave these allies inept, raucous and wild;
Only carry love stories inside your mind,
Have faith in self and ME, real angel cold;
You'll see the radiance, amazing, intense and bold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem