All my thought
flows and returns
to my attempt by mocking
to extract the beauty
while there is a reflection
in the bubble of instants.
A poet reads another poet
Under the dim light of a candle
One is dead and the other is alive
The poem dazzles him
Although the colleague no longer exists
His verses are still alive
Poetry never dies
Now you can be sure
It's just the poets
those who return to earth
So I would like to write verses like those
that time does not destroy
And keep the flame of poetry alive
for poets of the future
He knows that even though he's dead
will also be alive
Like the poet he reads now.

As long as there is a reflection
in the bubble of instants.