Someday, by the window, I may sit.
In my Castle of Dreams that I once dreamt.
The aims of life achieved and done.
Idle, undisturbed…
With nothing but the Book of Memories
Someday, by the window, I may sit
A gentle breeze forces in,
The pages ruffle in the air.
Leaves of memories scattered all around.
An old tale of our friendship per leaf.
I collect them together,
Trying to sort them in the order.
So many…
Which one to put where?
The leaf with the poetry of our careless laughter on it,
The one wet in tears of each other’s pain,
Another with faded letters of misunderstanding,
And that one with bold print of support.
Which one to put where?
The memoirs of the day when we met,
The days, they said, we wasted in vain,
And the day we farewelled…silently
And the day when we started to forget.
Which one to put where?
Someday, by the window, an old man may realize,
The roads he travelled once,
Cannot be again travelled by.
He may leave the pages scattered there,
Someday… by the window.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem