In the front of the stage, on the aligned chair,
Self-acknowledged Captains sit on there.
The presenter led off the episode of introduction;
On everyone's face- the pride of winning the crown.
The premier one is Irony, man - He'll bring out the bloom of hope cutting stone;
The second one is Olive's twig - will retain the name of the nation;
in the heroic semen.
The third one is the Hero of Al-Mahmud - who will come back taking the lost nose ring in hand.
Side one is the shadow of Nazrul - will split the earth and horizon.
The next one is the inheritor of Lenin - who will sustain the nobility of the laborer's hydrolysis.
The last one is Ayah of Lincoln- will provide bows of communism to Bond slaves.
Riding the time machine, T.S. Eliot appeared with rubicund eyes and face;
Pointing out forefinger says,
'All of your name is Alfred Prufrock here.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem