</>With scissors, cutting is made crispy
What are apart? Half of the paper is a lonely part.
Slit your eyes and the light will be humbler,
not enough to let you read through
enough to drive your heart creepy...
and then memories arrive
at a platform that belongs to you.
Those dumplings, Those bloody old dumplings in the rusty bowl
they wore oil.
I think you remember me, so I remember you.
Dear Grey Hair.
Swallowed the expired apples.
Which should be prohibited.
Grey Hair, dump the bad apples. Dump them!
If you don't hurt them, they wound you.
I love thee, chopper.
One or two pigs' brains and ground eggs
floating upon the soup nutritious.
They are uglily soft, makin' me vomit
A chopper is better. It cuts both hard and soft.
All kinds of memories,
are fantastically chopped!
But the chopper performed a fault
My little finger is lost!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem