There is a plague that sweeps this land.
From its raging rivers, to its desert sand.
It hides in the shadows,
Yet plane in sight.
Gone like an illusion.
but yet you fight,
only to be defeated another night.
Your mind slows and you loose your sight.
And you decide to give up the fight.
To try to win the war,
to save your life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Short and punctual, you never admite directly to what your stating, but the title inferrs what the subject matter is about. The last four lines have some ambiguity for me and I like the contradiction between the last third and secound line. Suggesting the best solution to conflict is to admite defeat. (atleast that's what I'm getting)