a reason is a little bird
resting upon a bough
i see it unable to spread
its wing and so i take it
inside my palm and give
it warmth. It sleeps inside
the darkness of my hands
but i cannot hold it for
long as it is night time and
it has by itself take time to fly.
i lost grip of that little bird
and now i must keep this
little warmth left inside my
hands. So i may also live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
darkness of my hands, good one, thanks. Please read my new poems and say something.