One head speaks too loudly that it shatters,
People have played their hearts too fitly,
Wondering about the lights and nights,
Feeling pity, finding intellect in their wake,
Yet the emotions are too sightly,
Fixing the morose feelings once again.
Loud chatter causes us to lose the winner,
Winning is the opposite of taste,
Winning the arguments is losing their play,
For conversations are like discourses
In the real night, superb hazards are then hurdles
For a running man in search of a fight.
One head is blamed for the leadership
As it corners the roads little by little,
Finding the ideas of a smile too tight,
Fencing like swords in the night,
Swelling up the joints with justice,
Like the rude judge with others.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem