Pave the way for
a wound. When will we find solace?
I will hit love across the moon
My fingers remain
twisted like question marks. But who will
give so many answers. Sun covers his face.
Where do the thinkers have
gone? Self-correction must start.
Can you wash the body. How to put off fire, God?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem