my dearest
we are here
we are not watching
fake mountains
i am holding a
real red rose
not those
fabricated ones
we are trekking
on real paths that
wind themselves
on the bellies
of real lovely
mountains
let us savor
these realities
for soon
we just don't know
when all of these
shall be gone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem