Chivalrous men walk like chills and blasts,
An explosive meets them in the life they lead.
The chemical I wear does strange deeds,
In this clothing my jolts arise to eradicate hope.
But where are the illnesses of a life that differs?
And what is this chilly childhood? Is it food?
My cheerful look establishes a rule and one more.
This defiant religion I have concocted stems
From a sky of hope yet it dies.
Elders require demanding bravery
And they are fixed in their bones,
They wear cloth of gold and silver.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem