lost in translation

I
“Standing on your toes brings you closer to the sky” says the ballet teacher to the fifty pink legs and twenty five black torsos. The breeze through the room is the same outside the library where the bible beating prophet stands on his grassy soapbox. “Jesus is listening,” he says. “Are you talking?” Heaven is not the same. It is lost in translation.

II
"To stand on the fingers of your leg brings you closer to skies" says the professor of Ballet to the fifty pink legs and twenty-five black chests. The breeze by the sector is same as outside the library, in which the striking prophet of the bible is on his lush soapbox. "Jesus listens," he says. "He is speaking to them." The sky is not identical. It is in the translation.

III
"That position takes you to the sky, your toes” tells the teacher of ballet to 50 pink feet and 20 and 5 black torsos. The breeze through the room will be the same outside the archives, where the prophet who beats of grassy bibles is on his soapbox. "Jesus hears that to him you are speaking." Paradise is not the same. It is lost in the transfer.