The weeping sounds empty wallets one day,
Opening an ossified mind, a solid sacred river.
The weeping has been heard before time,
A selfish colour of the deceiver.
One weeps according to time and honour,
For one weeps too slowly in front of mirrors.
The sky will fall, a selfish woman beholds,
For the training of the soul is complete,
Weeping is a form of utterance left without
Words and clauses, weeping is the ceasing
Of activity, of obvious natures,
Since those with sweet breath are likely
To fall in love and those with a heart
Can sacredly cross the river.
One weeps into a river, and it overflows
With fresh life, due to the sadness in our
Hearts that fry a heated fish, from the dish
Of a spoon in need of gods so goodly.
One weeps into the ground of the observer,
He sees a twin of the water, a deliberate
Act of the whole-hearted one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem