at night we are faced
with the light from the lamp
that sets itself
off
we are
accustomed somehow
to the
comfort of darkness
sometimes it is
us
that blows the light away
we kill it
we have known the meaning
of death
that morning
we are met with a different light
that lives a life of its own
that depends on no
gas or
fuel
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem