Cryptic (Poetry)

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All my words are a distant disguise of love,
Where can I bring you to the persuasion?
You give compassion, I get grateful
You are angry-I say with my mind, luck will be our anger

I address you and talk sweetly,
But whose sharp injury to the heart is always tolerated,
Things are true, although they cannot be yours,
How can I tell you when I am true to him?
What is my fault that I loved all of me

In the morning which was taken in the newly dusk,
Which path did she go to leaving me alone and goes alone,
By turning a fire on which everything was given on?
What is my fault that I knew someone after you?

When you are snatched away,
then the pride of foreign wealth is recognized?
Think about the first time union, how can it be?
This will be sexuality that I brought here with you,
But I see, in myself it is still made empty,
Where could I separate from memory even after being weak?

You do not curse me, my head is tilted with shame,
Today I have come to make a gift in front of you
That is my mind and flower climbing the second altar,
Still how I have come, why should I explain it to you,
How can I be able to call you myself by someone?