This world is a market and the man a merchant of his time.
But the time of times is coming, which will forever erase each proper time
And open up the space of spaces, which will forever wipe each proper space.
It is difficult to be in the name of eternal times,
As for the merchants of time you are valueless.
It is difficult to be in the name of eternal spaces,
For everyone throws you out of the possession of your own space,
Even though you are the bird that sings the real tunes of his life
And the wind that whispers the real words of his heart.
It is even more difficult to calm the storm that rages behind it,
So that it would not hit him too fast.
Even though the Mother of God with her veil of mercy
Most subtly in the final pains delays
The storm over Sodom of this world,
Many treat her only as a pleasant lady.