pull the shades dark,
And knelt in prayer
But no words
Escaped
My chaffed lips.
The sight
Of a strand of
Auburn hair
Makes me
Burst
In such
A sprightly
Flame
I was so young
And vulnerable
That the
Very incitation
Of desertion
Hurts like
A whole
Warfare inside.
Starved inside a black room
As the utensils of a banquet
Made the most of the
Conversations,
I can remember so well
Picking up torn pieces
Of photographs
Incidentally separating the
Frozen memories in between
Two fools
Dazed into nothing.
If I grow old and
Decrepit,
Would that strand of auburn
Hair give me
That same, sweet
Attrition?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem