Where are my visions of your remembrance?
Every woman of kindness escapes from her dream,
So many men enter her heart to console the heart.
Uttering is a reply from the soul and stagnant pond,
Using the soothing properties of its soundness,
Employing the rich animal diversity of its contents.
To be stoic is too complete, to be the right composure
Is too complete like the dragon breathing deeply the
Fire of a new monster, the regard of a physical nature.
The prisoner enters the copse and signals to those in
Trusts and professions, to obligate the duties of a
Past generation, to compel the worshippers to pray.
He must send his worries to the grave after scoring praise,
For remembering the deity is like knowing Him,
Like the praising of His Majesty, a glorious act indeed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem