One brotherhood is able to burst,
Little hope is cashed by children,
Let alone the misery of noughts
And elected noughts of shadow.
The southern freedom outlasts us
With fever in the realm of asking,
This maelstrom incapsulates all
Of the meaning of many men and women.
On the old nations is a black and white
Puzzle to begin the sands of brothers
Who invent the sisters of today
With old religions of this little bay called life.
One God reminds me of rings and relics
Stored in such sympathy, such pity
That humans forbid us with their tellings
Of such freedom and police.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem