They have taken away the essence from the pride,
They have taken away the honour from the honour,
All that is left is a bunch of blockheads,
In the colours of shining stars.
Value is replaced with price,
Knowledge with brilliant sheets,
All that is left is a bunch of blockheads,
In the colours of shining stars.
The pride, my pride of being one,
Is replaced with regrets of being poor,
And all that is left is a bunch of blockheads,
In the colours of shining stars.
Morals down and zeal gone,
Being unable to pay the price,
The grades low.
The courage to live the strength of the poet,
The sense that knowledge submounts brilliant sheets,
When all that is left is a bunch of blockheads
In the colours of shining stars
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem