Wisps of smoke permeate the air,
sparks fly like fireflies –
the fire rises from nowhere –
The tourists suspect some trick –
such things are impossible.
They ask him to show his scars -
And you say you feel no pain?
Such questions amuse him.
He who has passed through the fire
does not burn his foot on coals –
He stands at the edge of the flames.
I have no scars to show.
You have not passed through the fire –
You do not, you cannot know.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem