They have homes.
They have titles.
They have their materialism.
Nice cars. Nice clothes,
That some consider...
Is an expensive extensive wardrobe.
But what they all seem to lack,
Is an identity that has kept them on track.
They appear lost in pretension traps.
And even though they have obtained the 'image'...
Of success,
Few can express true happiness.
Why is that?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem