I let the recurring changeability
Fall to my shoulders, like a lacy shawl.
It wrapped tight the sense of reality,
Telling me to feel miserable and small.
To get warm I light candles and see
My heart burst into flames one more time.
Tomorrow will bring no guarantee
Except for the stony peak I must climb.
At dawn the same sun will wake me up
Though different clouds will cover the sky.
I’ll brew tea in the same porcelain cup
And confront the same, recurring lie…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.