The box disappears from the twilight,
Then the sun appears to justify the success;
One boxes the bags for delivery,
As one opens the bars that stain the city.
I have a box of the illnesses that shine,
Performing a memory of the later song;
Offered to some are the realities of greatness
Shining like a shining star or sun of good life.
This brought on a weakness in the ages to come,
This ill way performs upon the religious senses
Straining me as the swifter wind, the likeness
Of these winds is of the higher kind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem