When you blow off a candle
with your casually or strongly exhaled breath
many a time
you will notice
there remains
for a second or two or less
faintest possible
still assertive
trace of fire
swiftly coming down
the thread
it had been dancing on
meeting the base
and ultimately vanishing
and leaving behind a queer smell around
of a faint whitish serpentine smoke
which also follows it
in a second or half or more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem