Let him be paint with protruding edges,
And touch it gently with your fingers.
Let him be a dumb- rounder stone
On your doorstep stumble in it,
Carelessly again and again
Let him be a green dawn,
All morning, leaves a line of breath
On thy balcony,
And let him be a color of sun
Out there and melts in hill.
Let him be anything or nothing,
Just be tender, lest disappears,
Suddenly, and forever
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem