The earth had a tender voice
We have reformed it-
With intelligent
Full of insidious arguments.
She becomes colored glass
Flattering with synthetic rays.
Hypocrite deliverers are gardeners now.
Corpses smile instead of-
Bloom and smell.
Mother sighs
No crops, plates are covered with-
Lustrous poison.
Rats' alley-
Our secret Parliament, Pandemonium.
Nevertheless,
Soil- summoning to turn away
Desert- longing for a shower of rain
Day and night- muttering for rest
Souls- dreaming about souls.
Let us go to put our-
Motley face;
Let us go to mourn for
Celestial Grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem