To fight lines of power is too sacred,
Along this lifetime a created wall must
Boldly obstruct the young apparatus.
I see long, swift singers in the autumn air,
Birds the size of dragons, and old flies
So buzzing that their buzz overflows belief.
My authority is single, higher than most,
Jostling my waist, with fervour and song.
I see the plumage of a giant brave bird,
Opening its operative talons on the prey below.
The sheer cliff it succumbs to fades away,
For the oblivion is the ultimate end of ends.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem