after the flower has bloomed
it has no option left
but to proceed to the next
inevitable step
of wilting and falling and
drying and crumpling
it will
just be another dried seed
again
falling to a fertile ground
of illusions
without your hands, it shall
soon grow
to become another flower
again
soon, soon
spring.
even without your hands
even without your hands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem