When my heart is drenched in the wine of suspicion.
And my mind burst in the calmness of nothingness.
The temptation of vengeance is so justified when I am left alone in the field of battle.
With my bruised soul and bleeding heart.
And the raging inferno of my eyes brave enough to engulf my own Saudade(portugese word) .
The munificent God giving away his treasures in numbers and figures.
And an impotent virus drowning in the blood of bigger monsters.
When the expectations are higher and the results are much too low.
When the audience can't determine their time to applaud.
How I immensely want a time machine to execute this treacherous paradox.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem