I have never seen a jewelled sky.
Sometimes I see a lonesome point of white,
Standing against the apathetic murk.
Looking around, I can count four or five of these incendiary spheres,
Distant to each other, invisible to each other,
Reduced to motionless dots in the endless sky,
Glowed out by an army of impotent streetlights,
But married by a lonely pair of eyes
Looking through a bedroom window.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem