Longing, you carry the water
in cupped hands. A candle wants
to drink the tenderness.
My loss has become a
big asset. I am empty hands now
There is no burden of sins.
Will you count your fingers.
They were always crooked like question-
marks for which I have no answer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Greatness of great humble Socrates is strikingly reflected in this poem! Great ink! !