Don't give your heart dear
to my keeping,
for my own is lost long since
in reckless giving;
hence mine is always a search
for the lost gem:
in cracks and crevices
of relationships rocked or broken,
of moments of gold robbed or stolen,
inside heaps of midnight ashes,
in storms of sighs
or mountains of huge losses;
now I'm a fire
without desire for burning
a pangless pain
without sweet aching
that keeps my love starving;
hence don't give your heart dear
to my keeping,
for I'm full of empty words now
that hardly give life to living.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem