It has been written of books,
Inside them we singe our lips,
Innards are displayed before the lap,
Innocent layers must majestically and magnetically
Collect like soap and water in a sink.
We are washed of the history and innocence,
You are envy, pride and all;
What is more is that you laugh of the books and you gain
A living language to matter to the rest of society.
This is the commencement of faith in books,
And you shall notice noise and writing,
You have not got writing for yourself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem