The shirt hangs on the wall.
Stirred by the wind,
It sways loose and empty.
A blue envelop in its pocket
Bears his time barred thoughts
That never reached the mail.
The shirt frames an ominous void
Of a journey of no return,
Leaving behind a relic
To sway loose and empty in the wind!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem