If you believe in orange, ordained hands,
If signs are strong, mighty and ornamental,
This day the strong winds have understood the pain.
It was special defeat, a specific recompense,
Like orders from the sky, conquest of the high.
This night is truer than the holier light,
My eyesight is weak, gold is good gossip,
For I am richer in the eye and ear, full
Of woes to signify the conquest of my domain;
This is the night in which there is no doubt.
I have punished those in power, signaled the strangers
And the travelers, who embark on their trusted journey.
Knots are untied, knives are spun, swimming in sweetness
For our souls, enlightened by stupendous animals,
He who created us did not need us, but we need us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem