Birds fly,
Flying birds,
I see in the sky,
The sky I see nowhere.
I talk to the clouds,
And it rains.
It is raining, I see,
In my living place.
The place wherein,
I live is not mine.
And my living is
Not permanent, you know.
And let me close my talk,
No benefit, though.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem