This room is filled with smoke
But welcomes in twilight hours
And sour lies we tasted sweet-
Yours ’ old - voice turns far to quit.
Wit fake dream I tickled -
With joys and fear of regret-
Equally with her feet walked
In a waste secured breath to an end.
Deep, down lasting -glows of this beauty,
Flown with single minute with lonely cloud-
Be the bitter it whirled to loops
Reminds that; that way under the battle-
Dark, reddish it prints -
In me with a lagged shadow-
In complete rust, more towards pain-
Soar tends to lie with ruined blow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem