It is religion that you speak your life for,
With a voice of angels, with certain talk.
Your mother is very great at living with God,
And she is becoming thin, unhappy, and glum.
The search is for a time, the search is mine,
For the God who loves my mother,
And I speak almost continuously over the doctrines.
His attributes are his names and knowledge,
My wisdom is my mother’s,
So I pray like my mother like my father,
And feel hope for the religion to speak to me
About why you die in a job called life
After earning the sunset and sunrise.
I can not cooperate further,
For my childhood is small and it is gone.
Pilgrims do speak like my soul,
And the pilgrimage is not with my parents now.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem