A monster I spun in this heart of mine
Is spilling, shredding and hating one's fellowman,
Its embroidered skin lashes on the stomach of
My dining, this skin of mine entails a loss.
The monsters of the deep spend their money
Meritoriously, fulfilling wishes of a master of the sea.
The dreaded mortuary mystifies man esoterically,
Stranded sailors of the arduous ocean inject ire
Too swingingly, the monstrous brother of theirs
Wastes the living hours of offal and hearts.
The sailors see mournfully the blue, green algae
Glistening in the watery wastes so sabotaged
In the wisdom of well-minded men.
Their knowledge is over regarding the sea,
Opening the chests of gold pieces unleashes heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem