sometimes we feel
we are trees
birds roost on one of
our nights
and early morning
even before the sun
shines
upon our leaves
we already experience
a series of
departures
and because these
departures come in so many
forms and
colors
soon we become so attuned
to all
pain becomes a natural thing
like rain
like leaves falling
like winds coming
and then going somewhere
and we have the courage to say,
'who cares? '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem