‘T is the experience of my life,
Some men are jealous of those who rise.
Greatness is the result of the strife,
But the jealous never it realize.
Jealousy is an evil passion;
It leads to envy and then to murder.
The bible condemns cain’s ill action,
As he took the life of his brother.
Keats too became the prey of ill-will;
The reviewers did not let him live.
But the fame of his they could not kill;
It will remain for ever alive.
The jealous sometimes play dual game;
Friendly they pose, but do back-bitings.
They are like dogs, nay, dogs without shame;
They pay no heed to moral bindings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem