I have many stories,
Many stories to tell
For my heartaches
And my head moans
Because of those stories of love.
Sometimes she smiles
Sometimes she frowns
At times she nudges
At times she holds my hand.
Many times she is silent
Yet sometimes she speaks,
When she speaks,
Her eyes dance and
Her teeth glitter, and
Her heart speaks
More than her lips.
Once she squeezed my palm
Into hers
What did she squeeze in?
Her lips never pronounced them;
Yet her eyes spoke a thousand stories of love.
Once I kissed her
And when she kissed me just that once
With those rose bud lips,
It spoke many stories,
Than I could have ever told.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem