every color has its destiny of
fading, like the sound of ducks at night getting fainter
until what we hear is the perfection of sound
its reigning silence
and so do all the colors
dying,
either surrendering to total darkness
or
too much light
the same things amount to
and end
that afternoon what burns into red
in a rejoicing
comes into the perfection
of utter
darkness
the lights of the small houses
redeem what was lost
in the same manner that the fireflies
arrive
assuring hope for the trees
that the stars
are coming....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem