The enemies of your slain friend are frequent here,
Crowding there, the soldiers of Satan appear.
One devil is like a dozen soldiers of the opposition,
A friend is in the heart, but never leaves according to the logician.
My body is aching with crowds of blood and gore,
The mind sees us when the enemy is near to abhor.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem