I still feel your ghost in all the places we used to haunt
clinging nostalgia dragging me back there
though I no longer belong
I am exiled, forbidden access
a traveller with no destination to call me forward
biding time, the interminal wait
***
I feel your ghost around me here
in the crisp cold cut of the morning
the ragged tearing of the wind, shrilly whistling
through the not quite closed window
and the empty space of my bed
There is snow on the mountains
***
I feel your ghost in that too
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem