She cultures sparks of jewel dusts
out of unspeakable pain
while her soul is being ground
by the persistent, the unexplainable
memory of disappointment
that leaves her with more
ambiguity than closure
She glistens through each misery
and bequeaths a handful
of her collected light
to those who choose to stay
but she isn't somebody helpless
who would beg that you share her weep pillow
so you could itch her healing scab
She doesn't take from you
however badly she needs them
rather she sprinkles her Bright
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem