Darkness always weighs heavy.
And light was weightless.
You were visible to me.
I was not sure, which
god went numerical.
I was carrying my scars.
It offers no solace
if I become you, and
start hunting the filters.
Let the moon rise in―
its imperial robe, in
praise of setting sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem