No one willing intends it
It comes naturally, perhaps gradually
Like a boat drifted from the shore
Some though willingly
Like a bird hastening into the trap
For an unprofitable profit
For self gratification
To the zenith they seek
Forgetting their instructor they match on
Their compass they've left at the sidewalk
They've become a proverbial saying
The map as been misplaced
Their very conscience is sent to the gallows
Like a condemned criminal it hangs
These are the ways of a man seeking popularity
Where is yours?
The gallows?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem