nothing in you is diminished
at least
something in the core always
persists
that pebble in your hand
which you kept since childhood
after mother left
even if your hands shuts like a fist
or opens like a petal
of a flower during your kind summer
keep the hardness and let on the other
hand
show the softness of your glow
the orange softness of sunset
the scent of yellow lemons in the basket
the lingering perfume of the handkerchief
the redness of a plum
the whiteness of the wall around your past
the last kiss planted on your cheek
nothing lasts as you have accepted
that pebble in your shoe which makes you feel
the pain
that which makes you remember
what should be forgotten next
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem