A distant building has contained my pleasure,
Having a rich fight with the stress I am an abuser,
The one who fought a dying battle with an assembly
Of brethren, the monks of a building behaving absentmindedly.
This building is distant, the one I want offered on my plate,
It steals the threat of another monk, and how do I accelerate?
This building is a basic block of bricks I call God,
Itself the godly look is a facade much too broad.
I see fit to end my life,
The building is still a monastery, now an afterlife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem