A foreign godless man is clear in his entrails,
He clothes himself with respect of history and customs.
A bone inserts a message of a massage,
One nationality is too many, for me.
I thank him for coming, for leaving, for staying,
This much is true.
A godly person awaits the destruction of this world,
It clothes itself with the entrances of the crust.
A friendless man is like thieving porcupines,
Taking your feeling everywhere you rest,
When the spines conspire like trees and roots.
The man who is of knowledge aborts the play,
A nation abstractly disappears, in this writing of crafts.
Affections are raised eternally,
Like a friendly man of the highest station.
Letters of airplanes drift down slowly,
To see you toy with the bodies of distinction.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem