taking a sabbatical
from you all
is
like
trying to forget a bad dream
that refuses to go.
buried head first into the files
and
trying to foget you
i
is bad adventure.
you simply
cover me
from coner to corner,
styming the memory
is fruitless,
indulgence is the
preferred penance,
perhaps.
where are you, dear i
can you read me?
..22.08.2008.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
feels good to read u after long...hw do u?