Did what you write include the book of sleep,
Or were you arranging for a marriage with words?
The writing is angry of itself.
Its difference can carry a fair work,
Belief will conquer him who slept in the book of your sleep.
I am ready of the masters in this daily life
To question nothing of the opinion and waste,
Of the deadly steadiness of our doctors.
Hats wearing the heads of the soldiers
Are called helmets and uniforms are selected of the books.
Masters of our living existence are mighty
As plains and oceans,
With children to discover from exploration.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem