I am already a man who desires the task,
Indeed, a relic of the watery stream canes
My back with the futile weapon emerging
From liquid smudge and marshy masks.
The sad mud is asking questions of the soul,
International helpers forbid the other state.
My men already rule the lands of good hope,
Coping with their past like rains and showers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem