Absolutely pure,
I would not believe, until
a dark spot
appears on your cheek.
The petals now split
into rays, as in marigold
dividing the sun―
between the eyes.
I look through the stains
now, wearing the blanket
of moon, mottled but silvery cool.
I do not mind to accommodate
the pain of dark sky.
The true words now
stumble out. Give me some
tears to wash the face
of my poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem