at the second floor of the old house
he goes up
taking the creaking stairs
as though telling him some old stories
about the falling of the
clan house to ashes for years
no one dared say
about the fall of this family
there are whispers
not louder as a thud of a cat's foot
limping on the carpet
up there is the open space overlooking the blue sea
a white sail and some foams of the sea caps
catch his attention but he can not withstand such a distant view
his eyes are hurt by too much light and tiny object
he looks at the nearby tree
old mahogany spreading its branches touching the roof
there is this single leaf that falls
a hush of the wind
twirling to the shaded space
it lands on the pebbles
nothing is heard but he has seen it all
the fall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem