The dishonesty is a disloyalty, one is liar,
One is famous, and one-eyed,
But when do papers amount to clarity?
Where is the proof of a forbidden prince?
He lied and lied to your face, when faces hid
Solutions, fear was a tax levied on the family
Of our nation; when taxes built the frost
Of the state, the liar was about to burst from height.
The dishonest liar was a thief of despair,
Frailer than the fair, rigid like Caesar, but harmed,
Outside the marks, and outside the disgusting
Features of the face: he was a burden to the race.
This man is an object, an item of the reality,
Flint creates a block of fire, and in it is housed
The soul of this boy or man or infidel,
You must thrust his existence into oblivion, a chasm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem