Food presented itself on the table of goodness,
If a person ate like a foal you would hate it;
But now you love the innards of a minor soldier,
Who lost his tactics and strategy from the leader.
He has forgotten how to love and like, how to eat
And drink, nothing escapes his glare from the heart.
The original food is a pentagon, the five laws of goodness,
The one of the soul, the one of the laws that hurt.
Cattle and mules, horse and pleasure was the age,
Our food is belonging to the trees of correctness;
Then one abandoned the heat from the star at heart,
The very sun of your charm and happiness.
The light has reached a moment of distress, the faith
Has returned from the heated moment of moments,
One sweet drink is enough and sufficient to bathe
Our promises, our sweat, our love, and our finality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem