The semblance of a man contains fury,
Force is this semblance, offered by the unique.
My golden appetite occurs sometimes,
Open the gates of freedom when ill.
The real semblance of a man concerns me
When my strength has suffered, all this while.
My men and open enemies reside in my head,
Kindling the fires of my source of thought.
Inside a burden of thought is a mean muddy river
Of lava, of sudden danger, and of life under the forms of risk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem