Tiny devils

I was writing a poem in Swedish
it was about the tiny devils
Lazily, I pasted it into online translators
They wrote bastards and blody things
like if I was using swear words
instead of talking about the real devils
What word is more appropriate in English
dawn or pulled, when speaking about devils
and how they long for but never reach
the center of microscopic things
Translators can not yet replace humans
when expressing the dissatisfaction
of the devils at the very edges
That anxiety makes them swap places
Last night a fisherman knocked my window
asking to launch his boat in my tears
it was a worn out wooden boat
it scraped my face and then love came
I remembered it from yesterday
and the days before, it was pale
Muscles put to hard work gets damaged
and then rebuilds stronger than before
That is the story of love and muscles
at least according to the mallow
By the way, flowers and trees and grass
and fish and fishermen and the sea
and everthing else that exists
like poetry and you and me
It is all here because of tiny devils
are frustrated and swap places

Jävlar, pyttesmå, finns överallt
Jävlarna syns inte i mikroskop
Jävlarna dras till mittpunkterna
Jävlarna i utkanten är inte nöjda
Jävlarna i utkanten byter plats
Det finns blommor och gräs och träd
Det finns hav och fisk och fiskare
Det finns du och jag och dikter
Allt tack vare att pyttesmå jävlar
är missnöjda och byter plats