M adness of mine
I n the desert of your mourn
S ea of confusion
H eaven and earth could be seen
     - none-
A nd God and love; both hidden
N o way to see you again
E ven for a moment to get rid of
    pain

Poetry and translating in a world of horror and panic
Is like simulating the music on drowning Titanic

Arisen flame of love;
the decree of fate
over the darkness of hate.
White doves of peace flying over the kingdom of ease

Inquisitions have been reactivated,
only their decoration
has been modernized.
Let's not forget Giordano Bruno and what he said at the last minute:
"Perhaps you who pronounce my sentence are in greater fear than I who receive it."

It's a deity ordinance
A revelatory command that had been given Just to us; so far
We are the true soldiers of freedom

Hail violence!
Hail pogrom!
Hail god of war!

The worst is yet to come...

Again the gods of hellfire
have come out of their sepulcher,
with a long finger for revenge order
And,
With lots of
Blind, Deaf and Dumb; heavenly fighters

The god of radiance; the sun
all day long with its rays-Yellow bees-
hug the sea tightly, and the sea burns with the fever of this love

and at night, the Goddess of kindness, the moon sprinkles its silver rays- white butterflies -
on the body of the sea as a consolation for a sad heart, so that it cools down and can tolerate the absence of the sun.