Defining the borders
with guilds,
a body hangs on a rope
mauled and fabled.
I am making a fool of myself
to find your hand.
Watching the world upside down,
the ailing Buddha─
was dying. I don't own the day.
Tomorrow will not remain yours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
good day sir, thanks, I like your poems,