A small flower
Blossomed on a small branch tip
Of a small herb
On my walkway,
May be with smell
Mayn't be with smell
That I have never checked
With a dull yellow colour
Was going to be crushed by
Below my step.
But at once I hard a cry
May be not a normal
But in a telepathic way
That I want to make a joy
Joy of beauty that I have
Joy of the blue black sky
And a joy of my life
To be small and shy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem