Brush off the camps of luxury,
Brain after brain collapses with sites;
My boys are like cherries of this century,
With acting and glory as the effect of gladness.
This beggar chooses brotherhood to be the best,
The luxury came and went when elbows went,
The beads of bathing and swimming were lost,
Just then the boots concaved, with lenses of eyes.
The beef is eaten at the cow’s desk,
Bread shall be dirt as the dirt beams on the boots,
With luxury in store, and with cracking of bones,
Just then the beasts of battling converge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem