I know someone leaving,
Home is gone; he says
All day long he longs
to be engulfed with love,
which never seems enough.
The paths are afar, askew
Untoward only to the new.
Plagued by internecine memories,
plucked clad in dew.
Then plaid the morning of journeys
Unclad journeys of chum
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem