MAMVCIVM
There are no winners, just losers
Blood spreads on the hill's chest
waiting for the great storm
that the captive kings mourn
that will wash the shameful rust sands
There are no victors, only lost
without no more Ariadne laces
than the echoes of the thousand cries
without knowing that the feared monster
that hides behind so many walls
is nothing more than a myth invented
to incarnate crows with new mazes
I cross again the fortress
I gaze at the sleeping breasts
from my love that shivers
and I bring my thoughts
a light goodbye kiss
I am headed to the estuary
In the distance, it dawns on the barrow
The one who overcame the dragon
It is hard to imagine
when we should return
The men row in silence
Drizzle on the meadow of the sails
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem