the fingers on the piano
are so cruel
pressing the ivory keys
of mother's old piano
and from
the blankness of
her presence
a floodgate opens
the memories
which should have
been better
forgotten
there will be more
tears shed
as there will always
be rain
but there is this
adamant
determination to claim
the colors
of the rainbow
after
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem