Everyone has their own cup,
Each of which could be filled up,
If not to keep it broken, not to hide
While it's raining outside.
No one can hold water in their palms,
So let it flow through and be like alms.
The stars aren't seen, tho' they're still bright
While it's raining outside.
And anyone is choosing their own way
To stay inside or just to run away.
No suggestion who's wrong and who's right
While it's raining outside.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem