Stoic weary breadwinners expound the details
Of wages and earnings that smile at their chests.
Their memoirs are sent to the press of offerings
And shavings carry sights of the sacred.
Unkept men are keen on living, fully equipped
To greyness, lashing the skin with whips
That anger the receivers of transformed being.
A whip is guidance for the poor and pathetic,
It is apt to instil fear and hatred in the masses
When splendid cakes are blossoming with burdens
Of the brothers and sisters who save some men.
The canyon has a successful trait for the majority,
Abandon the laws of its interpenetrating rocks
So that boulders swim towards their goal of delight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem