My names are embedded in the whole life of our times,
Understanding them needs craft, and catching them can taste.
I see the real rhythm of a piano in dispute,
This white and black being can work like us.
Those in reading ways are the enlightened ones
Whose rapture is never stolen.
I like their suns and sons of their lives,
Beautiful decibels and decimal numbers cooperate,
Like lies and joining products of much taste.
I like their names, these sounds are of our language
And rhyme.
Let the names be stolen and solidly sleeping,
Like the open fools offering their organs to
Orchestras and the little people of this world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem