This is the English version, with some slight modifications of the poem lucifer.

With a match I lit the cloudburst
Everything must
turn to dust
Colour without pigmentation
In the light of the milky white moon
there was this outburst
of a soft, gentle thud
I could hear the dud
of a lid closing
I was done with the exposing
of those high-minded
Those who are blinded
Oh, so small-minded

match

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