To beget a worry makes you proud
Of being a worry, one that disregards
And enlightens the few who hear it.
Going to the part of the world that hears
Is to worry and be rude to the masses.
Any few who are rude are accepted,
Speech scrapes and confines us to the corners,
Begetting given problems of so strong a speed.
The born loser is a worry, an anxious call from the rich,
To lose is to win, and to win is to lose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem