The sun secures her stellar smile.
The misty moon may mend a memory missed.
I wield fire enough to smoke the ocean for a while,
Yet it is only this same rag I kissed.
What is that to me?
Small stars may swallow some stars
Clouds may call coward crows to commit.
My voice will burn fresh wounds into scars,
Yet what I eat, I can hardly vomit.
What is that to me?
Leave the leaves to live their lives
Free flies for fun should fly fairly in the fields
I have enough virility to fructify many wives
Yet my bosom from hunger yields.
What is that to me?
What is that to me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem