The clan of angels enturbulate the living determinism of the race of man,
they draw diagrams on paper and call them money;
forcefully lure the race of man to surrender their youth for it,
they force the race of man to buy their food with their money;
they sit down at a good spot and enjoy
watching the race of man come to grief in their gyrating madness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem