Where death meets to the God's honest will
Where life doesn't fall into the Devil's loop,
Only being ineffective to the world
Only being invocator to life I kill
My self, within dying truest beauty;
The petty silence moves on thousand souls
And his greasiness fairly increase;
Lone and discrete, although soars and shouts my duty
Where prettily does it meet, BEHOLD!
Belief grows it's plume in fair
Belief does the lives fairly release.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem