It had touched, the wind
of sky.
The viola goes―
pansexual.
Purple, blue and white
dog violet,
one of the petal was
landing gear for politics.
A fugitive poet
grumbles, eating the dark words.
After suicide, the viscera
was found blank, except
the half-eaten plums.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem