The poets are liars, the most fraud people,
Living by fraud,
The bluff-masters
Who keep bluffing,
The dull and bogus fellows,
Most inactive and impractical.
They think it
They know it well,
But in reality they carry from others
The things not their own,
But of others.
They suffer from falsely
They are great men,
But the great men never say it
They are really
And if this be, who is not great?
Greatness needs to felt,
Search talent in others
Rather than praising oneself.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem