Twelve thirty-five in the morning
I am on duty, on the bridge
About fifteen minutes ago
I had finished my coffee
Looking through the windows
All I see are darkness and glitters;
Flashes of lightnings, and shooting stars;
Dark grey clouds and white bubble waves;
The small light gleaming in the distance
After writing down I looked again
Nothing change
No huge Godzilla surfacing
or any unusual figures at the sea
No Superman nor Ironman nor
spaceship dashing through the sky
Where's the moon?
Just clouds, stars, lightnings, waves and
a gleam of the light from afar.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem