I'm standing at the window, Yesterday you died.
The late evening sky has weird colors.
Are you out there - somewhere -
close by, or very far?
Deep violet black clouds...Can I reach you?
In me, you are alive:
I named you "sparkling water", a fighter, too.
But now concede, you were tired,
seen by others but last by me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem