The evil one
believes that he alone
lives in paradise.
He sees his gold and marble halls
fat tables groaning under
feasts unshared,
worships the idol
in the mirror
and he smiles.
The saint, meanwhile,
labors in hot vineyards,
wipes brows burned by
the risen sun,
creases the fertile earth
and with wrinkled hands
fills the bowls
of the poor,
and God smiles.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem