The faint fire is weaker today
And the color of flowers have faded to gray
Details in brushstrokes have been mingled in pen
Ether has coursed through the veins of our kin
Watch the waking while asleep in the brush
Hand-prints tell stories when lips have paused hushed
Just figure mine in and finish your plan
With lines like labyrinths laced in my hand
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very artistic and pretty cool too. fun to read =)