the tiny lamp is the torch
when south meets north
on the same hilltop
with black and white anima
running the race
of downfall
and triumph
the same hermano
from near and distant far
what left tells right
don't just say it
do it, mean it.
he was reborn
with bended knees
and found the wordmaster's
great poetry
with his barefeet
for he sees no one-
but his true self.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem