dressed so thickly on a cold season
you decide to go to the top of the mountain
alone, and there you sit for hours looking at
the trees, and hills, and patches of villages
below, your feet hangs on a cliff, your hands on
the side of the mountain, secure on the tall grass
beside you, some twigs whisper the necessity
of being alone with yourself, wondering what
happens next, when you finally decide to jump
and then forget about what happens
next. This is the ultimate decision of your life.
To end it
Or to go down and think and start all over
again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem