In the mirror of April rain
I jumped high; you aired away
a free flying bubble, higher you blew;
lower I jumped, jaded.
You aired on; open, you burst wide
on the Easter evening of raw rain.
To you, what can I say?
Can my words hold you on?
Is it the knotty foreign tongue
or the clueless class?
The mirror, I placed
in the heart of the raw rain
that spanked the rotten roof,
hut of the broken bubble and me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem