This is the place, a city average
Where he frequents.
Here lies another memory lurking on
A fairy of delight, lived as a lovely lass.
Now it is his place of work
Where destiny brought him alike
A fading odour of another
Whose absence is more of her presences power.
He knows the limits of the city
And its heart; where jostling
Stories of new woven love give no respite
To him as the same roads and station reverberate
The feelings old, which someone stole.
He resolved not to return again to same city fold,
Leading to a torn portrait, old and worn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem