A lion calls to his kin, warm the fire and shout the din,
The panther eats its prey, its red claws slicing the fray,
The gorilla beats his chest, spraying his word to all the rest,
Till one itself, put down the sword and lays it to rest.
He eats from the world and yet the world from him does not,
He sustains his life through what he hath wrought,
Above it he places himself, till no longer roars he sought,
for indeed, he no longer rots...
Then one day, bringing the catch to bear,
he turned his hair, twitched by a malevolent force,
till he himself found himself killing the source,
With such fury did he pound his chest,
it was a wonder he was not laid to rest.
The music of man doth prey on savage beasts,
and yet the music of they doth within still breach.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem