the dishonest men
have a language of
their own
a coded handshake
a secret symbol
a place which they
call their own and
you know that, they
make those who win
those who must have
that fame and glory
with an equivalent
money, and you know
that but you just smile
at all these things
and manners which do
not actually last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem