On the silver plain of eternity, the streams of silence flow uninterrupted

On the silver plain of eternity, the streams of silence flow uninterrupted, In search of majesty, the white man, with branches of stars on his forehead. Hunters of illusions, their weapons aim at the shadows dancing on the sky, The prolonged assault echoes, the carrion of hopes in the wind fades, diluted. The Africans, with their lunar fangs, pierce the earth seeking its aura, The Arabs, with their authoritative paw, Scratch the heavenly vaults, claiming the right to the throne, And the Asians, clever archangels of civilization, lay their master plan, Even women, in their innocence, dream of crowns hidden in heaven. The white man, civilization's ghost king, runs against the light of destiny, His tames - a canvas for the rain of longing, his eyes - two lakes of mystery. Each jaw that opens, each silhouette that hunts him, a promise of tomorrow, a defamation of yesterday, a melancholy reverberation of what has been and will not be. For in this magical world where hunter and hunted often switch roles, each being carries the burdens of the past, clings to the dream of survival, The misty civilizations of existence are stages for this immemorial dance, And even in the face of defeat, the white man carries within himself the essence of the whole world. He is the thought that flies above the traps, the unattainable desire, And even under the burden of the fog, under the merciless assault, his beauty rises regal, Elixir of life in the vicious circle of desire, to devour and be devoured, He is the soul of civilization that survives in the magic and melancholy of every twilight.