I’m doing better without you
Getting up in the morning
I write the words that disturb
What still slumbers impatiently underneath
Morning coffee, evening wine
Not as much of the time
Anymore, as before
I don’t let myself wonder about you
And whether you are in mourning
Or if you read these words and are disturbed
By what lay dying impatiently unsheathed
In your thoughts, thoughts sublime
Do you still hear my rhyme
As before, or evermore
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem