It was absence of truth.
The silent pain writes a name in
the invisible book for a monograph.
Draw my old blood.
You want more water. Hydrangeas
are thirsty. Want to drink from your hands.
You ask pure love.
A Sleeveless torso was utterly homeless.
Prayers have gone godfree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem