In the profuse literature a sloth has appeared
To dazzle the brilliant minds with laziness;
Inside this island of reception is a doubtful language,
Many minds barge and charge towards the ships
Housing the sailors of a new generation.
In this profuse argument resides a house so beautiful,
One house belongs to you, as well as your family
Of desires, that Adam will bless with the ground
And all the clay so kept by this help.
In the reader's mind a menace will profit
From properties and hearts stealing the minds.
The literature of today brings me mayhem,
Its lusts freeze our heads with our hearts
Suddenly and wilfully, like the self of tomorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem