Desk lamp has no idea of the words illuminated by it.
Most of them look fine, some are sophisticated,
And those printed on the gold-trimmed polish paper
Appear to be the eternal truth.
Desk lamp bends low.
Daring not to blink or steal a glance,
It always feels ashamed
For its lack of profound knowledge.
Then it's turned off by a hand.
In the stillness, desk lamp holds its breath.
Without light,
All words are scrambling around like orphans.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Breath in stillness, great words