My spirit is my heart in quarters and halves,
It collapses in front of my naked eyes at once;
On the enigma of a fountain and a join,
The adhesive properties come in all of a sudden.
My spirituality has grown strong, much too wrong,
Like the apples of a largest crop or worrisome toil
Of the soil that mutters hardly, rocky and persistent.
It is the spirit housed by my blessed body that lingers
And is cherished by the hard castles of the night.
Many have designed the only channels my way,
Much has engineered what has been engineered,
I am merely a galley on the sea for all to see.
I am like the awkward messenger of the righteous mind
That is saviour and death all of the time, all of the time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem