when you win
you are into the side of danger
you think that you are the sun now
and the rest are the grasses who need to worship your fingertips
most winners are actually losers
judged by a few who nonetheless see the world through their
lopsided sights, their biases engraved on those medals
their revenge on the greatness of others finally accomplished
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem