THE POEMS SCATTER THEMSELVES
The poems scatter themselves
Like stars through the distance-
No one can understand the vast emptinesses in between
The darknesses which will forever surround them.
They too within themselves are burning and unstable
Expanding and exploding before
Contracting into their own ash-dark demise.
The poems scatter themselves
Like stars through the inner emptiness of a long life-
Who knows where they will end up
And what their ultimate destination will be?
Intimate fires? little lights? great darknesses?
Shapes of kindly beauty?
What will you mean
When the Lights go out forever?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem