Diamonds and stars trade places,
fooling a velvet-coated sky—
Stars sparkle on my fingers,
the moon doesn't question why.
Gold-kissed buildings reflected
in a rippled, liquid mirror,
Make faces at themselves
as their images twist and turn.
A night garden in the corner
of my apartment building rooftop,
Breezy scents of flowers that
aren't supposed to be in bloom.
A Dali'esque surreal, outside room.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem