The night passes in different ways,
I shall call them in other ways.
Thinking of my pride, the state of it is kind,
In your heart is a beating, and all away.
In your heart is hard beating from afar,
Like the night that passes from too much work.
A fast day is about for all to rise to,
Like the only fist of truth, only you.
Of us there are few who matter
Compared to the ones with hearts too successful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brings ideas to thought