They are not
what thee precieve, are putative;
these small creatures of
Earth,
Full of
ugly pretence and
innocent puerile stances.
They have been
bestowed upon
as holy and angelic
- but trust them not;
indeed,
Underneath their
covering layers
Of smiles,
Lithe laughter and
falsity,
do you not
behold?
Alas, for you
then, my crony;
you are caught in the
deceitful web;
their living domain of
terror.
See, now!
Cast the light upon them,
let the darkness fade, the
veracity disclosed;
see not the horns of the
Devil strapped on their heads?
Have faith in them not,
they live
For intolerable mischief;
Deceiving the world
so that they, themselves
are inimitable.
They know not boundaries,
nor ramifications.
For they are
what they are;
as children.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem