The king
stood up on the edge of the cliff
wise men said
he was too brave to take a step ahead
but he, the mighty king
said
he was too small to give it up
He hates what he is
he hates what they are
when I will try to distant him from the cliff
he will hate me
He will grave for me
and he will need to feed
from what I feel and re-nourish inside of me
Reborn
Vanity
insanity
a salvation
he never touches
but can preach
the things we, the plain, cannot reach
But most of all
he hates you, it is you he hates
you,
the whole you
whatever is you
with all his heart
he hates you
when you push him too close to the cliff
and you decide to let him live
With all his hate he hates you
and with all his mind, ready to sake the shame,
the honest honorable loneliest king
too fair to tremble
too king to fall
or kill
too not him to be dethroned
chooses the rope of the fall
and so he ignores you
the reason growing separated in his soul
and takes a step ahead
in that cliff.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem