Morning..
Waking up with smiles...
Quiet..
Cold and shivering..
Seeing sunrise in the morning seems refreshing...
Even though everything will change..
After the day started...
Pressure mounts..
Laziness comes...
And morning spirit stumbles...
As the load of boulders come...
In a form of sheets of white thin papers..
And the flowing ink from a cylinder..
Making a sound that cannot being heard..
As it came from the heart..
And trajectory from mind..
Making a sound of depression...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem