not even a flake of clouds!
but the sky is not blue,
nor is it so dark, but,
the wholesomeness of hollowness.
an artless moon!
though so proud, but lonely,
on a legendary silent course,
still on her silver chariot.
silent, gloomy shadows
on the stagnant lake face,
the night-bird sings out
pains of man and nature.
unvoiced laments of man
echos within bruised souls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem