As the stars sank and the convulsions stood,
We lifted the night with men crouched in caves;
The screeching murder was behind them,
Savages reflected the last time and the last one.
One light crouched and another darkness sprang
With a sitting position, without the glory.
In this sense, we part with the sensibility
Going to the moons we deliver,
We part with the death of a hundred stars
And the flower of birth and death grows
Like beauty of the unknown.
A thousand years feed us with eternity,
The air transmitted will be wombs soon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem