It is I who will kill your hunger,
Until it reaches zero.
I am beans, okra,
That you eat quickly, wiping
The dish, pot, basin,
To come back to job, to life.
In this turbulent sea of hunger
I'm saving the food, even cold,
What rescues, castaway hungry
To return it to its existence degraded.
So do not look at me like that,
As if I lacked sauce
Or pepper that allowed everything to eat
Without more flavors.
Do not waste your time anymore,
Before you have not power
For remove with a fork a bit
This custard that I am.
Because, leading me to your mouth, eating me,
Will achieve resist a little more,
Perhaps enough to invade a farm
And once there, seeding me, can I grow,
To never have me as alms
But the fruit of your labors.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem