when we visit him today
he says his heart leaps with joy
and we hug him
old man Gil
and he tells me
about my poetry
about the anonymous
the house without a resident
the world without color
the reason without a cause
the nothingness of space
and death
he says i am morbid
though beautiful
he feels it
and tears start flowing from his eyes
his Mechong is dead
his one and only beloved
since then the dead poem of mine
written a long long time ago
has assumed its desired shape
and now he understands it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem