here, I am now resting besides the graves of my memories
and plucking black flowers grown to their ugly chests
and with a spade, digging the hole to grab all the soil
to rewrite my past, although knowing thats quite impossible.
i am in an unknown city, with my some well wishers,
the city proves to be full of graves and vast skeletons
i cannot rest my legs on them as they are pious remains
and their souls instruct the whole city with their bizzare eyes.
i am unable to decide, why my fate has taken me to this city,
have i done something wrong or just craved for you
and I know my discovery would lead me among one of them
Last night,
I encountered a virgin soul, weeping on her grave,
she was a beauty and a heartful lady in her best clothes
I w
had no courage to go to her, and asked her what the matter was,
somewhat like she too was feeling what I felt at the beginning
I wish, she might understand the pain of the dark memories
And that city lies in the heap of the dead memories.
This city... your memories? Digging inside you? Such pain that rest in a young poet heart t. Sad and beautiful.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
past memories hurt agreed dear poet