Nostalgia comes back.
Let go of the tears in the river of pain.
And we will sit in the moonglow.
I ask the grief of the
eyes to celebrate the departure of blue.
The psalms are rising in smoke.
Not sure of yourself, you
want to catch the butterflies to forget
the mask to uncover the face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem