Brandish a sword
right into that big fish.
No he cannot swim,
he is a fat-cat, fish. Yes.
He speaks of tales
non-existent ones, the nerve!
Don’t let him cross,
show him who you are.
I demand for his skin
to be bare, release shame!
A thief of your identity,
he locks it up in his nest.
Let’s retrieve it,
hold on to my golden mirror.
We’ll point it to his eyes,
the scariest room alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem