She called my heart
on a cold night that
the petricor of its aroma
woke up in my soul...
Fragrant perfume of lover
that the wind took to the garden
of roses that thorns cares
the sensitive spirit of my Being...
There is nothing left, not the flowers,
nor the petals of withered roses
that the wind carried faithful death
full of aged tears...
I forget that time moved
deep in the bleeding flight
of your silent memory...
John Bisner Ureña.
Writer & Poet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem