only gods dare farewell,
small things always enter,
and keep entering,
in a thousand different ways,
and myriad forms.
we are no more than this,
this coming and going....
i dont know whether
to tip my hat,
or leave my shoes at the door.
the taste on your lips,
that you cannot name,
is me, and nothing more!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem