In the blue waters crow writes,
for live and death
of the old neighborhood
always talking to the revolution
after a night of crime
when the nun fell into a coma
and the child was flying lightning
over the houses with foxes
then we began the great adventure
with the suspicion of devastation
in the green hills with the warriors
which lurk a child with bread
to read stories of magic and action
with the parish priest of
who once armed with courage
against the forces of bodies love
and made the small state ghetto,
the old neighbourhood, mud
a male living dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem