To say the many-faceted reliefs was a stone to throw,
Into the pond it was delivered, to be picked up and thrown.
One fish was like guards, the guards were customary to
The region, as this county behaved and answered like spies.
This belief is one strong belief of worry and pain,
Under the steel apron, without the meanings of the few with fire.
I am an ogre of the hour, eyes are the pivot of strength
And charisma, the nights knew ghosts for the hazards came.
My fascination began to stop, sparks flew and began to spin
Like man and his entourage, this fair lot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem