Something is there in your eyes
That has robbed me of my heart
Now, I resound like an empty vessel
That is emptied even of any definite shape –
Formless is the well-formed.
Nothing is visible to the crevices
Of my eyes and
The dreary spirit of autumn
Has perched on the
Dreary prairies
Of my self.
That is how beauty plays its part
In the passionate game of romance.
I feel like an object discarded
Or an earthenware cast ashore
By time’s violent waves.
The gloss on my surface is tainted
By the rust of putrid promises.
Who knows how long am I to suffer
In the barren vale of dreams!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
game of romance, I like it, thanks.