Pauper is not tailor-made
to draw any sizable crowd,
Only the clumsy old tycoon does
who wants to be stinky rich
And hugging the old guile,
he feigns the jaguar
and feints the suckling cat
and here are enterprising types-
amen men all round.
Those who want to be heard abroad
bawl with all power the lung can afford.
Those who claim gallantry breathe fire
and risk opening a can of worms
Oh brothers! Any is but a front,
let the myopic ones eventually serve a purpose
not for their dynamic benefits though
but end up their thick-lensed-glass-wearer selves
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem