Every translation is an act of betrayal.
That pain in your semantical chest, such a precious tutorial.
Creating a new product just for the target or remaining loyal,
A choice of yours, to be a bridge, to be medial...

It got too old, to be stuck between target and source,
Sometimes it flows as a river, and then all eyes can sense the force.
Regaining what was buried under your soul, the skopos,
And maybe that's why you found strength to delete those photos.

While robots translate texts without feeling,
Nida created what we call the equivalent effect, for months; he was trying.
Creativity is a sick man now, bleeding from coughing,
Perhaps dictionary cycles exist to be completed.