He is a born fighter, like a fierce bull secular,
Nation and religion is not to him dear,
But lasses beautiful are truly near,
Created dozens of offspring but left over;
In a high spirit, truly secular.
Tuned to an ecosystem, playful with body she,
Towards each other, identical, love labour, lost;
The bodies melting within and within;
The erupting volcanoes of rot and perversion;
Ends up in hidden fear of compassion.
Inherited the legacy of debauch Mogul emperors,
Changes color like a chameleon secular.
True follower of lofty legacy, of fathers secular.
In the fading dusk of life and hopes;
Ideas full of X-rated clips, like an open library.
Left with nothing but rains of bitter tears,
The drought of hate and frustration,
The stinking autumn and dark winter;
Of scornful, dying hopes and dreams,
Fluttering to resurrect like Phoenix.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem