To warn those I say are apt to trouble themselves,
I enter the cauldron of disappointments that never die;
Who will share my path to the other side of town and city?
To warn them I make my punishment the same as dust,
Inside the abdomen is a rumination of some doing,
Whether you are mad or bad, innocent or guilty.
To warn the remaining souls of the city and garden,
I relight the fire and extinguish it when ever needed,
So that the behaviour of the gases are subdued.
One seems solidified by the warning I have endeared
And the filthy riches of a heavenly fear so wild and apparent,
My mastering is the mastery of the knowledge that made me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem