'Sometimes it dulls our senses,
Sometimes it pains our emotions -
What could it be?
Sometimes it overbears our heartbeats,
And outweighs our breathings -
You think its love? '
This flame returns those days
To me like an image in a mirror:
When we first set fire on our woods;
How it rose to a furnace
When we gave it all our tinders.
As the rain revealed its advent
Through the grey clouds amassing,
The thunder rumbling,
The wind blowing;
How we made a shelter
With some bamboos and thatches
Over the fire so that when the rain
Arrived, our fire sustained its dry,
Our heads too caught a few drops.
When after the rain we ran out of fuel;
How we bent to blow, with our mouths,
The dying embers to become flames
And to long-live this dearth.
Being drenched by the fuming smoke
And by our own sweats,
And exhausted from a long forcing out
Of air, you rose defying my petition,
You walked out on me, you left.
Thenceforth i have remained bent
Blowing the fire even in the falling off
Of my breath and strength...
Hence, if i drop someday would i be
Able to set the fire again
When i fall back to earth
From an overcast steep?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem