To combat I strive and find at close quarters
The opposition, who build a closet of anxiety.
Struggling and wincing, the combat is high,
A higher man shall concentrate and win.
The biggest one will fight for his own achievement,
The other one, a smaller achiever, graces the living of others.
A lettered man hides his own achievement,
With a reasoning mind, a rationale of exceptional strength.
To combat I live in a stupor, live in unhappy weather,
Just to let the rest be pitiful of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem