From one voice a whistle is sounded,
The thirst of silver is allowed
So rich sounds and ideas are loud
Like the whistling noise I heard.
In my mind’s eye, a silver coin
Appears due to wages and health;
Here is where the money stops,
The replacement is huge, such as sound.
This real noise is sounding like a thought,
The thinkers quell these thoughts
Yet we are aware of these long substances,
In the eye of a soul, the rich soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem