Every time the man prostrates
The satan wails for the fear of losing hails
his men aplenty, freeing from the thrall
causing him to further fall.
O satan wail that I wouldn't fail,
to your enticement and anger.
I will still bow, to your ouster,
to the omnipotent creator of creation.
Your roots planted in me shall never bloom,
I will never fill from the grain of your field.
my sustainer is the king of eden
for whose union I wait, like a dry field for rain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
beautiful write! ! a lesson to be taken a prayer from all thanks for sharing