Invasion was thin
like a feather's fall
on the mirror.
Only bride will know,
the rose petals were
meant for unthinking.
Scattering rice
to dig out the tools
of prehistonic man.
The previous night
I taught myself
how not to peel the oranges―
with bare hands,
in terror, when there was
endless path to unknown.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem