Your name forms a mist
rising circuitously above
in silence and then falling
changing into raindrops.
Something prideful cuts
creating tiny heartaches,
like the past of a lost soul
whose song is still heard.
Quickly, quickly, heed
those refrains, stored
growing in your heart
like springs hyacinths
Earth’s large wheel of life
rolls on its moist thick rim
of forgetfulness, slicing time
into inaccessible half hours
Your inebriated soul spills
onto the cold wet ground
Like blue tipsy poor men
Flying to the wind’s voice
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
firsy of all, i like the title sweetheart...you had chosen the title well..i will put this in my fav, so i could easily read this in time when i want to write my version using same title, hope u allow me..the contents are nicer as expressed by the beauty using the art of your version..this is so nice, smart and elegant..i lav this