Looking is in innocence,
To know something more is decent
And an occupation of pride,
So look at those fortunate men
Who possess the wise appeal,
The real endeavour, the real status.
Look like them on that day
When nights are no longer suspending
Like a canopy of desire.
Look at their chains when the trumpet
Demoralises a young man who lives,
The one who shall die.
Look then, and repose then,
For the aftermath is an experience,
One of the beings that concern us,
With beautiful living, and honourable
Shelter, of the highest kind
That ever resides where it resides.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem