I have a hidden treasure whose discovery
I will not tell you
You throw away every day with a veil of contempt
Whose memory is forgotten, your impure senses work endlessly
The firewood of combustion hits its sacred red pind
Create the lava of anger
Exhale its ashes on the ground
However; This decorated form of the great age
The robes of the busy city, the waters of the pleasure boat
The mourning booth of the emigrant riding on the wings of a hawk
How many familiar voices of so many unknown paths
In search of whose holes – the huge body decays peacefully and takes its seat
If it takes its place in this enchanting address of dreamy thoughts
I have a secret treasure that
I will not tell you
Even after repeated blows, it returns in the form of a full moon
Breaking through the dark night, it brings the light of day
Perhaps it is the garbage left over in the story of neglect
The end of boredom and beatings in the original address of the root of the sign.
