Dia pra dia,
sanggi kureh subezu
pra matra reinyosu.
Song falah di forsa.
Lumi birah di nosta.
Amiang rifah katra.
Tempu sugah prepresta.
Firida fikah festa.
Abizu pra ngua meza nubu:
petu redondu, moli, largadu;
brasu muladu, pustemadu;
punpuntu chikereru
pun pedreh
midu di koitadu,
midu di dedu kereh largah
Inundansa sigundu.
Westi falah fuzilada nadi birah dos bes.
Asih, bai fazeh lesti namas.
Nali, granggrung signifikah speransa;
sol klaru signifikah chang kereh ntarah,
korpu desah tokah,
desah gadrah,
ngka desah angkoza
ki, pra fing, di tudu buraku bemfetu ta sanggrah:
cheru gabadisa.
Praya di ardansa.
Machu di ilastra,
panyah fresku,
dah kumih pra tudu.
Day after day,
blood flows enough
through oceans of legend.
Voices speak of force.
Light returns from yearning.
Tomorrow shuffles the cards.
Time dries out quickly.
Wounds become welcomes.
An invitation to a new table:
a rolling chest, soft, releasing;
wet, greedy arms;
mischievous points
that have also lost
the fear of pity,
the fear of fingers seeking to release
a second Younger Dryas.
The West says that lightning never strikes twice.
And so, just go east.
There, thunder signifies hope;
the bright sun means the earth wants to be buried,
the body to be touched,
to be guarded,
to not want, at last, what bleeds from every beautiful orifice:
the smell of pride.
The shores of inheritance.
A man of the archipelago,
collected fresh,
served for all.