Evening hours of playing peekaboo with the sun
And i lay down lavender words
loping and longing in my journey to you
Crossing infinities of time
Chiding my days
And chastising my ways
For you to return
When you retreated like a soft murmur
Like gentle untuned ripples
Like the melancholic wind that blows and draws in through my window
Addressing my pages and leaving but not reciting my rhymes
Like the fumble fuming puff hailing then slowly fading and failing
Foamy and fluffy with the froathy cream yet not savouring the flavour
Calling yet not caressing
Rhyming yet not flowing
Leaving me like a vagabond
With a foramen self
Grappling, gripping and then giving the grave,
the soul you gave
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem