Why do ghosts wear clothing, you ask,
as though their spirits need a mask?
Perhaps the fabric wraps them tight,
to keep the memory of the night.
Clothes are not just thread and seam,
they're the traces of a once-held dream.
Worn jackets, dresses—faded, torn,
the remnants of lives once again reborn.
But the age of a ghost is hard to say,
for time is a shadow that slips away.
Maybe they're born the moment they leave,
or they've always existed, never to grieve.
Clothing is what keeps them looking real,
a form that lets their past still feel.
So ghosts wear clothes to hold on tight,
to the pieces that remain after life's flight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem