Hatred, mighty and best of the quantities
That deliver praises to that that is non-excellent,
That which majesty is against, aghast and anxious.
Hatred, menacing and futile, filling
The bodies as much as sin itself,
Guaranteeing nothing but disaster.
Hatred, a terror and festival of worry,
Designing sadism as many times as possible,
Killing any follower in its wake.
Hatred is better if love has no objective
For the ones whose minds are their souls,
For the populace draining you of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.