If white is the only color
of your morning then my love,
It is like the dew a proper luster.
In all your earthly mine your piety.
when you look inside out at me.
I dress myself inside the night,
of your white moon light stairs.
Briefly glancing back at misspent youth.
They cut off all of their's, of his and hers.
And took to clothe them in their smugness.
Beating on their chests,
more out of jealousy than treachery of war.
Out of some subconscious need,
afraid of his and hers to great their beauty.
Why did they erase her night
and leave him out, inside her dawn?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem