The path that is ridden with filth
Needs to be replaced by structures
That sound and appear like treasure,
To be stored in the laps of the children.
A path needs to be straight,
Your direction is plain;
Plain words are muttered by passers-by,
Reiterating the destination without need.
A real path sways and returns crooked,
Laughing like an argument as it progresses;
The progress of a man’s life
Is like the journey on a straight path.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem