With a wild gaze I tread the path of right,
Keeping souvenirs along the way, so as to test
My strangest habits, from them the disease awakes.
I await for the lunging of a soldier and the peace of the traveller,
The travels range from far and wide, all along the coast.
My keeping is certain, to bring it is certain,
For I am an argument, too enslaved in arguments.
The prayers of a day old are written on my face,
These words invoked beckon the angels
And they come to my soul with blessings so abundant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem