The films of your details are extinct,
The literate and letters themselves are exalted.
One image is adequate for the soul,
Another can be fatal to masses and societies.
Those are verses of the inner health and serenity,
We carry cloth of their meaning, our signs are ready.
A book is designed to freeze your distinctions,
It is people who cause the wisdom of a century.
One closing door is afraid of your evil intention,
My details are stronger than detrimental kings.
It is revealed along the wastes of a single man,
Those with distinction have trials awaiting their souls.
My beating heart caves in like a damaged animal,
The mirrors of our dreams distract the inner mind.
Who does not know the double troubles and realities?
Where are their tongues and hearts when submerged in oil?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem