My eyes weep softly
in the candle-lit night of prayers.
In youth, there is some advantage,
keeping distance between
the potential for happiness
and the awful days
of loss and departure.
But misery is always waiting
patiently behind the next corner
like a relentless stalker.
When nothing
can warm the heart,
when love is a vague memory,
it becomes difficult
to sustain meaningful existence.
I've become the last
clinging autumn leaf
on a wintry tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem