and then mori became too small
for sufi.
galaxies away, mori had become
a very tiny star
not visible when you are too
complacent sleeping upon a bed of grass
looking up above the stars
sufi shines like a sun
to the sea and the desert
scorching every forest where
hunters bring their spears
still hoping to catch the
deer with a golden
fleece.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem