however it is not saying really that a hand of light
can give life back to the dead grasses
under those dead trees
upon an abandoned mountain,
sometimes i imagine that what if i were
a flash of lightning bringing a loud sound of
thunder
can i not possibly
create another Frankenstein
finally telling me that i can be wrong
in giving life to the dying?
whose pleasure is it is really to die?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem