I stay up late in thought of you,
Burning incense to the god of sorrow.
Morning comes, I dry my eyes,
Till my devotion is due tomorrow.
Perhaps one day the phone will ring,
And a voice will speak on the other end.
Perhaps I will hear the hello,
Of a dearly missed friend.
Perhaps you will say I am forgiven,
Because I have paid all my dues.
The god of sorrow will then release me,
To live without the thought of you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem