surprise comes like a bud and bliss comes like a red flower
so dainty and beautiful but you know it well: a very short moment
like a breath a sigh like a puff of whisper to the ear
it is a show of life, we gather dry leaves and then burn them
we clean the ashes and we wait for the grass to grow back
we anticipate the coming of hope, the rain, the clouds, the sun
sometimes it is all dark, we are blind, and then things, all things
begin to be real, it is all the same, too much light is also blinding.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem