When you decide to depend upon someone,
it is not me, it is not me, but still you ask, I to needed to ask.
Even when your back is completely turned around.
The moon it traces, is it not, why you or why me.
Like you I breath and in breathing it does not speak.
Under both hands Inside the sound drowned sorrow.
Talking different from the way you walk,
gold-plating, silver lining the reputation which is there.
The six inch cut how it burns your tear stained cheeks.
And deep in thought where you live the silence perhaps, it lives.
For ever how long, it is or short, it is not.
Equal is the width the length the depth are your lips,
and is it not in those lips, in kisses and vertical, I answered.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem