I flip through the past
a cut up chapter book of scattered plots
and poorly written characters
remembering the wretched onces thoroughly
and the saintly ones only breifly
This is an example of how pain leaves a scar
and pleasure
simply the rose bud of a meory you must attempt
to recall
To let it blossom beneath the stars
where inspiration is born
it that place of afar
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem