I throw a scrap of paper in the fresh air.
Yet the hope of meeting may be unfair.
As to whether she feels what.
I am feeling or barely not.
Perhaps, someone will read me inside.
will share my pain with a pain in mind.
Where there is life, there is hope.
Of meeting what we already sow.
Had not you become my love in this phase.
I would have met you; getting over the haze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem