The wind is very blowing hard here
My primitive feral addiction
That I buried long ago
Has come rising up from the grave
You woke up that Forest
Those birds
That had been sleeping
Those trees
That had been lying dried up
The mound of earth
That is transformed gradually
To rocky hill
Is turning green
A poem is gradually crawling up in my heart
For you
For that gust of rain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem