Thoughts―
were not picking the words.
This was ultimate loss.
How do I stave
off the disaster? You
were taking away my smiles.
What kind it would be
the next quake, when
I was standing at the door.
I have yet to
know myself, searching for
the invisible truth.
Cannot drop the―
pen. The eyes will read
the last sermon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem