Lonely dry roads
Waited for our journey,
Language of love was mixed in its soil,
Patience –
You call it.
Forgetful birds
Didn’t know where to go,
Language of love was carried by them,
Continuity –
You call it.
Melancholy red roses
Originated from my blood,
Language of love was inscribed on them,
Sacrifice –
You call it.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
very nice definition of sacrifice, continuity and patience.... interesting write. take care, see my new poems on pg1.