Green fields
Reflect the breaking
Of the Looking Glass
Behind the
Whitewashed wall.
Wind pushes the curtains
And tips the
Ink bottle,
Its black tears
Seeping into the
Mahogany wood.
Darker than dusk,
And heavier than smoke,
It glows,
Setting aflame the blue horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem