I'm lying here under a rock
with the wonders of the world
in my open hands
acting like romantic secrets
yet to be told.
End of the world or not,
my love is sacred.
This portfolio has no history,
but is as old as me
and the loose ends
don't jump to conclusions.
The music you hear
is coming from inside,
filling up
the day to day.
I'm walking heavy
through a thick of dreams
on the mature edge of solitude.
What is true
cannot be described to you
the way it is to me right now,
but tomarrow I'll give you everything
like falling rain,
only if your portfolio
has been emptied
to be filled
with the wonders of the world
in our open hands.
End of the world or not,
our love is sacred.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem