Just as the frogs begged Zeus a king,
two wolves howl to the moon
asking for the terminal blow
which would raze all the world.
The Horne of Abundance is sound in the city,
the wolves of idolatry are going to hunt
with their claws hidden under the sun,
their tucks will bite again the innocent necks.
In all bloody nightmares there's a lone wolf,
the one that even the hyenas reject,
its victims can't see the cowardly hate
when it strikes from the den that will be its grave.
Nobody believes already in blue blood,
but some wolves assign to themselves a special color of fur
and guard tenaciously
their domains with black jaws.
The wolves dress up not only as lambs,
amidst the oldest tribal war
there are wolves preaching
like peaceful animals.
During the night
the howling of wolves scares us,
now more than ever,
because we are crossing
the greatest darkness of the forest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem