He stood in front of you made up of sweat and tears,
Shaking heavily, shaking with tears that tore you,
His weeping face swore to a goal that desisted,
Subduing with love this gallon of oil.
Oil was the boiling one, oil was the goal of eternity,
Its feeding was a dog of cannons,
Firing its bark like a long roar of a lion
Rather than a dog,
Dogs after dogs falter as they sing tonight.
He stood with his dog in front of the making of death,
This was death in the making for the dog, which licked
The stale bread from the beret and beer,
Feeling like the open doors that closed before.
The dogs had to march into the light of the souls
Of zoological entities, offering some of those gifts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem