The aquiline nose as the shadow of the horse on the face of the man
And the duck pout as that of the mallard on the teenage girl
The crimson red, the shade of the hog on the middle aged man
Stepping up the steep stairs of lewd thoughts
The ever-growing hair, that of the monkey, because we
Definitely only are swinging apes with the gift of speech
A bestial detail in the DNA fabric but it is rather
A human drop in a bucket of pig's blood
Animals take hold in our ribs, those are the footprints we see
As we roam outdoors, beasts stepping forward
Beasts trampling us, coming from before us
Going further in a stampede.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem