As a child
you played with matches,
bonfires gave you a thrill.
But they told you the fire burns.
Fire can be dangerous.
Fire kills.
So you stomped it out,
let your body grow old,
your soul now cold.
As the ashes settle
light comes through...
Your fire embered,
seemingly died.
But you always had
and will forever
be at one with
the sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem