Awful burns have divided us in the crashes of the bright,
A coma has been attached to our words of much lift.
The uniform has appeared to be abhorrent, to the senses,
It is completely comfortable and unique, forever this way.
He is drunk by the fluids of division, burning his brain
In a plain struggle, of wonderful might and strength.
The craving of fire is within sight of the light,
Breaking the animals of their blood, of their very sight and hearing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem