in the high way of pasture
openness of the heart is needed,
and the green meadows
looks good if the eyes catches
the moist of spring
come shaded truth
the fools stumble like broken
rock that calls the
wind, to settle in every mantle
of plain of Lilies
sweet to touch, fresh to see
yet dry to feel,
the leaves never hover the dew
yet it struck the pain in
every wound
I keep on breathing thinking
something
what would happen next, until I felt
asleep...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem