he writes with
a heavy heart
and it is shown
how his words are
pulling him to
the ground, like
ripe rice grains
pulling the stalk
towards the mud in
the paddies.
from a distance
however he is a mole.
and farther away
he is dust, and as
we walk farther, he is
nothing.
he still writes with
a heavy heart.
still honestly, hoping
that someday one may
go nearer, view him with
pity and make him
die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem