She rises from a feeling
sinking itself in a pregnant hope
of an eluding pain which she labours to own
leaving scars on a heart left unto itself
coiled in memories of a lazy noon
spent sheltered under the raddled coat of a pretty stranger
who exchanged stories for bread and wine
and left the sand in the crevices of time...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem