Poised above the Gates of Hell, surveying the monstrous pit of eternal damnation…
Yet…melancholic, rather than aghast, at the prospect laid before him.
Far from the Divine Comedy, he sits alone, in solitary, contemplative thought.
To a fresh contemporary eye, appears a modern, secular man..strong in mind and body taut.
Yet lonely and still as a statue...butarranged with a sense of movement..
His arm restingon his knee- an exaggerated pose.. but deceiving the mind to believe
at any moment… he could rise up and leave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem