Zamir Osorov (Kyrgyz Republic)
The Night’s Flowers
as our children.
But we are surviving much longer
then our heartily touches, ties and sensations.
And often we have not to observe their lost,
forgetting to suffer and cry
when we are missed dear one,
lived in old ago along, forlorn and hollow.
But blessed love and luck of Kyrgyz traditions
sometimes created truly miracle,
when we are dying
our love resurrect and unfold again
as a night flowers
upon the grave of parent
who had so short memories and ungrateful souls
but left so kind and thankful offspring.
Comments about this poem (The Night’s Flowers by Zamir Osorov )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
William Ernest Henley
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings