One hand, empty pocket
tin can the other
thick fogs skimming skyline
and sunsets
waving goodbyes
harsh will get harsher
cold becomes colder
all cracks appearing
a cup of Japanese
egg shell gold lined
sake, just to prove
this pointe
a loneliness
so empty it is
joined by stars
and billions are sharing. M
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem