My trying towers the uprising, I enjoin on you goodness,
Saying is saying less, statements of purity develop from light.
My trying is my offering, many illnesses inhabit the body,
Mine are overtly critical, like the offensive of a dictator,
Like the squabbling of geese, like the questions of the soul.
My agonies in one day try to overpower me, in line with duty,
Taking elsewhere a light of red heights, lofty goals, inline
Commentary, victory, happiness and nature of the highest nurture.
My pains collect every mountain that tumbles to my feet,
Taking my socks and shoes into the sky of belonging giants.
My authorities number at infinity, my skies have hazards
And clouds of dying thoughts, investigating like secrecy.
Make me certain of whoever is authority, may the stacks of words
Belittle the readers who train their minds to infinity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem