Pulsating stars in dark silent night,
So many of them in carefree secret sky,
When the dispenser of light hope arrives,
Where have they gone as the fireflies?
They never rise and fall in disgrace,
Always there as the mighty satellites,
Blinking and wiping hot and cold tears,
Lonely spread sheet littered with mistakes,
Sad and bad memories; in which,
We lived; always have link to hearts,
As the cobweb, sweet memories,
Are the stars; never shattered as the glass,
How many cloudy villains try to hide,
when they twinkle as the tiger's eyes,
The printing of celestial events,
Visible to the human eyes only in thought,
as long as scented, they hold their hands,
when the scent is gone and the feet are,
on the ground, a few see only the mistakes,
What do you call it, either love or lust?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem