The light of performance is a manifestation,
Delight comes to the light of our soul,
Little by little the variations arise
From creations and limits awfully rewound.
In some quarters of the world,
Those of the woods are prevailing
Like the sylvan creatures,
Customs and language are found
At the foot of the lake still skimming
With light, delight has fallen into the realm.
We may compare hundreds of faces
In this crowd of natural light,
In this sunlight dazzling the fortunate dozen.
Many plans are speaking like the wind
In some union with godliness,
A forever light is confined in this area
Of late.
With the appropriate movements,
We are strictly aright,
We are nooses and other tools
Of oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem