In the world
There is not barbed wire fencing of romance,
not sterility of bull story,
not indigestible speech of life
There the independence is as the multiform mind
where changing comes daily
but, as the worsen jaundiced body
There despotic reign
writes by left hand
the forehead of grave
in a little period of masquerade game
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem