Tired fists bleeding,
a deep red waterfall oozing through white ancient boulders,
Hatred swims in my eyes like pollution in city skies.
I find nothing I love within you, like that,
You find no reason to stay, within me.
Clusters of clothes thrown, abnormally large confetti.
There is nothing to celebrate.
A typical dish meets it's end in the wall.
My soul on a rack tortured in your tower,
please let my soul rest and love you,
with the devotion of a mother,
waving her first born to school goodbye.
I hate the girl who destroys our living room,
but ridiculously in love with the girl,
who puts our photographs back on the mantel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem