in the morning
i light the tip of the
incense stick that
i bought specially
from
Malacca
i write a poem
for everyone then
there is no more
someone
in my mind
i close the room
and the incense smoke
fills it
when it is over
i see
ash gathered
upon the foot of
the incense
stick
i contemplate
upon this
demise
and i say
pretty much like us
pretty much like everyone
no one is
special
not even you
in Malacca
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem