you,
me and poetry
were three friends,
cute, cuddly,
handsome, three some.
no rancour, no green eyes,
nourishing one amother
beautifully.
then.you left me
so has the poetry,
ultimate loser
is self,
the pen, the sheaf of papers,
the sofa you so listlessly
used to sit
and
the dogeared
Omar Khayyam
carelessly still
page marked at 92
sing
glorious of your absence.
..atp
15.02.2008.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
present in her absence, am i right, aassiq?