Dear,
Among all those tears,
Your ray shimmers,
Like shards of silvers,
Against the dark rim of the moors,
Changing the anthracite grey of sky,
To amethyst as day goes by
Dear,
If ever your wind of care,
Leave this heart in bare,
If ever your bloom of joy,
Leave this soul to coy,
To the creator I dare,
Than being the narrator, oh boy
Dear,
If ever your ray will diminish,
Tears will seem to prowess,
Heart will seem to vacuous,
And as the beacon of hope dimmed,
This breath pinned,
And this strength, this body, this whole of me will never win…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem