holding on to poetry
like i, once a child
held on to the string
that holds the balloon,
the blue balloon that
flew high to the sky
and then gone, and i,
once back to this
childhood, and then
realizing, i have grown
and tasked with other
more important matters
that must support
others to live, and not
considering what pleasure
is there, left for me to spare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem