Eyes are made for you in being,
Cares are thrown at you with dally,
The thumb of servitude is again,
And the fingers become leaves once.
My authority is breached, my author
Has spoken and written his best effort,
But where are my words and pictures?
The same writer accepts the people
Who mutter phrases of discontent.
This is abolition of the statements
Beheld by the believers of worship.
Never speak to those in authority,
My judges are like flowers of the sown.
We must utter brilliant words and deeds,
Fixations flourish on golden eyesight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem