When world becomes a dungeon of your own,
Not sleep nor dreams, your jailer gives but woes,
Your praisers, scarce that critics have outgrown,
A drizzle of friends, downpour of your foes;
Weeds flourish in the fields while wheat withers,
Your well lacks water, but contains much dregs,
The wicked need be checked, but none bothers,
To tie Heaven's guy wires, you brought no pegs;
The door has closed, but no window to find,
Luck came, but may have passed the other way,
Of things you ask, how could God have declined,
Angels might have sung louder as you pray?
……And worst, you were raised to immortal stage,
…..But you forgot to ask of not to age.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Really enjoyed this, love your line about friends and foes :)