You're but a dream now.
A dismal dream I can't wake up from.
You've left echoes of ringing laughter.
And warm grips of unbound love.
You were never born,
But had lived a whole life inside of me.
My unborn child,
I know I've been careless.
Immature, irresponsible.
Drinking in the smoke of despair,
Reaching oblivion.
Neither guilt nor heartbreak is an excuse.
Apologies for my broken body,
And cold womb.
For the murderous selfishness.
But know that I'd cared enough.
To free myself from the bonds,
Of fermented bottles and cigar pipes.
I promise you, before you leave.
A trickle of blood, crimson tears.
Pain unimaginable, bear witness...
Death of my son.
Birth of a mother.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem