A little ice of sadness melts in the latent heat of the winter sun
There sits an underwater iceberg of sadness.
It Plays little tone in my poetry-
Leaving the poetic atmosphere, I am afraid, if the talkative crow
Surrounds the silence of poetry with its cunning noise.
I have a little burning desire-
I want to stay like me forever,
And I don't owe any master,
Even it is impossible to love me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem