i.
A little
candle.
But it flickers.
ii.
An empty window,
framing the sky,
filtering sundry laughter
and sunny days, shaping the clouds.
Over time, misting.
With smudges of cold fingerprints and
furious scrawls.
You wipe, tirelessly, with tempestuous
velocity, but somehow
the day looks
less
bright
iii.
(but it
flickers)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem