we do not deny the greenness of
grass the blueness of the clouds
the airiness of space the silence of
the world
we conceive them we think
we reflect we are the mirrors
and through us they must speak
through us they must live
that greenness, blueness, that air,
that space
when we are gone what do they have?
ah, they are nothing
they turn into nothing
we bear them in the basket of our thoughts
when the basket is broken
they too are broken
for who can tell that the flower has bloomed
except our mouths
when this mouth turns to ask
no Phoenix shall from ashes
rise...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem