The darkness of his smile
Brings agony to his thoughts
His words cut deep in
As if they were millions of shards of glass,
Pounding into my skin
As if they were an ax chopping down birches
It brings dismay and tremble
For his presence lingers
one and on
and on and on...
One may long for a hunt
To chop him down with his own ax
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very beautiful. Your poetry is very beautiful. One little suggestion perhaps? To correct your misspelling of 'axe? ' Then it will be almost perfect.