The death of the lover is a living episode,
My dove flies according to dreams and force;
The dead men and women are resurrected
Like the forces and the moments, forming
A matrix of a death, a mattress of heaven.
The lovers of life will be installed within,
The souls of the lovers call their whims.
The death of a light is the enlightenment,
Delight then in what may enchant the body.
Light will carry the rumours of the heavens,
Darkness is of the earth and its premises.
The death of joys brings heaven to all who obey,
And guidance engifts a revelry to the rules,
Those with delivery are those with souls of pleasant
Signs, too many signs inside further signs,
And so is the death of the souls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem