the long slow breath
of your indifferent stare...
miles away, across the room.
your words ring hollow,
and your face disappears
in the gloved hand
that dares not touch...
i planted flowers by your grave,
but i fear the birds
have eaten the last seeds...
i die on your cross
in a land you dare not go to...
behind a door
you choose not to open!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
In a sorrow-tinged atmosphere, you sing your verse describing a melancholy incident. I think you sing about a distant tragedy happened somewhere. Planting of flowers by the grave and dying on her cross are visual images ever remaining in the heart. A poet of peace and deep thinking! Wonderful Sir!