Man, you do look handsome and grand,
With those inspiring shoulder pads,
The double knitted cotton from Manchester,
Woven to suit your breasted chest,
The buttons from the Indian goldsmith,
Still hot and glitter as your mindset,
The fine belt from Italian calm cattle,
Tied your waist, saving your misfitting pants,
Slightly inflated stomach, gone are the six packs,
Stand on the sturdy legs and tickling calves,
The polished shoes and cleaned socks,
A matching kerchief in the pocket shelf,
The wallet is filled with American spirit,
The keys of organic cards have to be swiped,
The imported perfume from Europe sprayed,
Then why does your own face look so sad and tired?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That's a poem with some very clear portrait of this sor tof person, the ones who are pretenders and who seek to present false and hollow front....and how effectively you end the poem with that dramatic question: Then why does your own face look so sad and tired?