Top of the mountain
is always narrowest
and looking below
is the hardest sight to see
transcending villages of memories
top of the mountain
is brittle and weak.
Sliding back down means
slithering through the dirt
down below zenith
down below hours
all things orbiting
all things divine
seems simple
than climbing a mountain high.
Watching withered hibiscus
spinning in red wine
like amber signs ahead
beaming: be ready to leave
and green waving goodbye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem