not so private prays
are left to the fragile
usage of unlawful bugs
that settle in the community of citizens
who believe they are fighting to keep
there bodies and minds clean
from the unclean
come good poet
and lend me your ear
for good whispers are
hardest to find?
for in my civil heart
there are doors, to my mind
and in myself i have found a dumb slave
who shouts without sound and cries to many tears
must i beat this horse again and again
must i, must i
because your just, as in the dark, as I!
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I would like to translate this poem