I am not hostile like a liar
Who is a locomotive on the run.
He contains diplomas,
As continuers go, like early spring.
The dribbling of the ball
Commits players to talk of lying.
My crown is too stable,
Dice throw their images at you.
This chance is won by a fraction,
Elongating the way forward
At this time in life that crowns.
The interrogation succeeds as it
Filters the liquids faster and faster.
The diploma has been kept this day,
Like formulae in the making.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem