A mammoth is late for the prize,
Lazy, light and peering into deeds,
For the age created us with its tusks,
And the tusks would disintegrate.
A maniacal honour laboured for the times
Of the senses we ingest like the unspeakable.
A horrible deed staggers us like goats,
Goats and soldiers find us in the wind
Installing the dread,
As the dread shall not disappear.
Form a prize with honour,
This same size of honour is implied.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem