I try to think
How it will be
When from my heart
This room is taken
And
the spot where you stood,
And
The sound of falling apples
(outside our window)
By the high winds shaken, I wake
To the silence of the moon, caught
In the twigged trees
And you, will you speak
No more the
Ever- echoing words
When once from my heart
This room is taken?
Alas
From what chrysalis of
Being do I struggle to be born:
Something that cuts to heal
and severs to draw close...?
Or will there be only
Despair and desolation
As a lost child
That cannot mend
Its cherished toy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem