A gentle voice prelate spoke
During whose meek and mild breath stroke
A palace of darkness, prisoner's light
An epitaph of lies, witness night
A teary eyes, vanity of grieving
A melting heart, turmoils of believing
A desire to see the world through the panes
A mental certitude, the grave, our gains
Should we faint and fear to live alone?
Or learn to die till flesh depart its bone
But as heaven has willed we die
to flesh the soul waves goodbye
The plagues hung on the wall of time
of their greatness before death striked the chime
of their riches and fame they borrowed
And of those whom they must quickly followed
Every motion of envy in me dies
Immortal being, a feast for flies
An ugly life, tombstone of the great
As decade treks, bushes fate their state.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem