On jagged rocks they bound him in duress:
The wrath of gods would brook no dispensation -
Because he gave, in throes of righteousness,
To people - Fire - but gave for good intentions.
The ages dragged. Time wandered hit or miss
In curving turns, in catacombs went straying.
He did it fir man's good…
But tell me this:
Can fire be controlled, or snuffed by praying?
We honour fire as sacred aureole:
But far too soon the gift to all we make:
You see, the fire Prometheus once stole
Was used for burning Bruno at the stake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem