Twisted as a snake, the man is pausing to reply,
Response is unlimited from him, loathing him,
Clothing him in ways known to the scriptures,
Finding him a distinction for the whole people.
He found himself face-to-face with unspeakable beliefs,
Twisted like a snake his face was disfigured,
In the way of solutions and significant elements.
This snake and scorpion stung the book of dreams,
Jostling in the mud, soothing the expensive purse.
Cry like a solver, crave with hunger, in the way of men
Who reply with grinning as they are smiling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem