if you stop writing
you actually detonate
a bomb
if you explode you lose
your self
and you cannot find you
they cannot
so you keep on writing
to place yourself
under the happy state of
a fuse
you light a room
you have become a bulb
in the darkness
you are so beautiful
the fireflies
shy away from you
after all just like
those moths
they die when their
wings touch you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem