High and beyond this axis –
It would be the past moon,
Like unhurt wood to ash –
Would lie to childish sun.
When this point is washed,
And loneliness itself is craved,
Holding strongly within his arms,
Who embraced –
Those stinging memories,
Then you lift the golden thread
In treasures of splendor rainy –day,
To beautify a portrait of the heart –
Murmuring a star, rejoicing this pen.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem