The culprits culminate in the position of registry,
An aimless forfeit complains in the way of the end.
The baboon munches, he flaps his arms and toes,
With a banal complaint, like the battles he fights.
The ordinance delivered by this dangerous dummy
Is an ingoing instinct, a leader’s river of life and rights.
He is an ayatollah of wheels, a man with an axle
To save his sort, the culprit is himself, although a priesthood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem