a red bird flies low
passing by
i walk alone with nothing
in my hand
lightly i do not carry much
thought
my feet are dusty since it is
the middle of summer
the river flows with a song and
the grasses are growing wildly
with flowers at their tips
the clouds above me drift endlessly
casting shadows on the hills
time travels so fast and it changes
everything
without even touching anything
people pass me by
i am heading towards my fading
compare me to an afternoon
it has no choice but to be with the night again
i am with the night but i am not sleeping
i am on this journey
always going but with nothing definite
on where to go and when to stop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem