I looked inside the idols,
Clapping their hands and legs
With divine storms and triumph.
It was a statue of the higher sort,
Beautiful and complete but
It was made of stone,
In the entire mountain of gold.
These old venues were put to us
With ordinary results,
Result then followed after result.
I looked into a mountain of pleasure,
Losing the height of the scrummage
That happened with bloated birds.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem