May sleep break
before spring arrives.
I haven't touched
the color of snow flowers,
and yet I linger in imagination,
wondering who has dyed them silvery white.
In dreams, there is a black snowfall—
it writes our story.
Oh, it frightens me:
if sleep doesn't break,
I will remain
in black illustrations,
and dark snow won't disappear.
You know, I don't like black,
still, I wear kohl in my eyes.
So may sleep break
before spring arrives.
—November,17,2025
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem