This is where they sent me;
somewhere out there, into the world that lost everything.
Is the Fourth Mundansa? The Third? I don't care;
all I want is a body laid bare:
ngua korpu di corpus-corpus.
Ngua sorti di janela
ki yo ngka presizu brus.
Ngua tera di jenti teng menus
midu di sol, impoku mas sintidu di berdadi sa rusah;
ngua poblasang ki ngka desah rezah
kung deus-deus falsu ja tokah rintah
di yo, kora yo mas krensa:
Sabia, Mezi, tudu balor di Asia.
Ngua kapas altu, pra kadangua tema ngua
Adra.
And I, as a humble apostate
of culture and terror, of fear and mutable fate:
Let me be the one to say:
This is not a flower from the Pacific.
This is not a power from the demonic, or the angelic.
This is a Orsang Kristang,
and an Osura di Pesuasang.
Tigri-Liang sa trumenteza,
kung tudu jenti sa chang.
You and I must head into the fields to pray.
You and I are destiny's men-at-arms,
waiting to say:
numistih gadrah diabu sa fortidang.
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