My dreams are always adding up,
While the variable reality is always multiplying.
When I divided my dream by reality,
My dream dwindles to a one-tenth of number “1”, a grain of rice.
 
My freedom should be a square or a cube,
Like the sky and the grass covering the ground.
But what makes me fear is that,
I am only a number called one,
Created by the Arabians, like a screw.
 
Subtraction is not the lifestyle I like,
My life shouldn’t be continuously a taking of hope or happiness.
While in their description, I will be,
An infinite number,
Even though it is subtracted to zero ultimately,
It is the beginning of hope, the rising sun.
 
Yes, I am indeed good at math,
There are lots of children just like me.
Every time they lower their heads in the exam to calculate,
They always face the fear of approximation,
Like an eraser is erasing yourself.