Since the earth is
Not perfectly round
How can anyone here
Be perfect?
Nothing is perfect,
No one is perfect.
Here, the mass is
Distributed unevenly.
Here, everyone and
Everything is tilted.
Each one is shorter,
Each one is lower,
With the winter and
With the summer.
Let the poets write
Here, as they like
Seeing the sun and
The moon and the stars
And the seas and
The forests and
The creatures and
Let them try to
Reach the perfection
Through their imagination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem