there are days when i ask,
how come my arms are empty still?
despite your hugs
despite those whole nights
with you beside me
sometimes i ask
how come the bed is not that warm
anymore?
an empty glass has become
more like an empty earthen jar
which sometimes
becomes one empty room which
now has turned
into an empty world
and empty universe
the stairs that i have taken
have dissolved in
air and what confronts me
is a space of
stairs
these are questions still
unresolved
and sometimes i come to silly
conclusions
that perhaps these are but
realities themselves
empty houses do exist
like these empty arms like this
empty glass
and always for a reason or perhaps
for no reason at all?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem