Trying to enlighting the soul that dwells in darkness willingly, is killing me.
A pictture the blind will never see.
A level some minds will never be.
Though I have advanced to a level of certainty,
I shall ascend to a trend of eternity.
Don't believe than watch and learn from me.
The burning bush in the woods still burns for me.
And honestly
The fire is me
The burning bush in the woods is the irony.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem