These ghosts hide behind the creeping sunlight.
They always linger in my dreams at night.
They're a creation of my troubled past.
I cannot exorcise them. Perhaps, they last
Because my memory cannot let them go.
They're deathly silent; yet they tease me so.
Perhaps, they're an omen from the spirit world:
A symbol of something beyond mere words.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem