Anger, greed, or happiness,
Nothing can compare,
To the long lived emotion,
That humans dub despair.
The consuming reach of sadness,
What our most precious arts evoke;
It is sought but yet so awful,
It will make a weak man choke.
The man who lives in misery,
Is more valued to us than life;
So we depict him in books and movies,
Because we love to see that strife.
The work that ends in sadness,
Is more compelling to us than bliss;
To us, that book is better,
If the hero lives in abyss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem