Life has attained the sport of messages,
Their stay is permanent due to old age;
The range of the way and how we arrange,
That is the target of tragedy and comedy.
My special burden is on the taxes of nations,
The money has raised the money only.
Life is shortly fine, horns glide, shawls side,
This life entrances a few of the endangered.
My stay on this world is finite and long,
Why do we question the repose of our leaders?
The ways of God are known to men who deliver
And proclaim recreation, the wisdom of this world.
Now return to the world of words and fire,
I already have size and volume for the gasps,
Horns will be blown twice, horns will be grapes
Eaten in the form of wine; wine has erupted,
A little opening appears in the haze of money,
The wine is the wine, the wines are elevating.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem