the stars faithful
to its glittering even in the
storm
the sun without failure
shining every morning
the moon afloat on the
river
sailing by the marsh
soundlessly
the creeks that flow
against the pebbles
the grass that spreads
itself upon itself
the clouds that drift
incessantly
the self that lives
despite
the consciousness that thrives
amidst the numbness
of the dead.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem