My thoughts remain,
unlike those strange snowflakes
that drift away to nowhere.
They simply find secret spots to hide -
thoughts of joy, in oceans
thought of pain, in deserts
tangled thoughts
in tangled groves.
And on solitary nights
when a storm has passed
they creep to my bedside
quietly
and in pity
gaze at my face,
disfigured by life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem