They fought on the poems of young men who concentrated,
Exposing ghosts and prisoners who were gayer than gay.
They simply found happiness in their guise and gait,
Seeking the outlaws of a day that ruined one man who discovered.
The fountain of our hate is connecting with signs in unity,
They see waters blend with salt, oceans of hate and treason,
Those were the days of worry and accusation after accusation,
Fleeing from gigantic beasts like stuttering before a judge.
Your night was adopted by young men who fastened nails
On their legs and arms, keeping rage and ruin, turmoil and sound.
They fought over the poetry, and won the wearing of attire
That was tattered and feathered by the expensive comforts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem