I have entered a season
of dead leaves
and ensuing darkness.
I commune
with residents
of pale principalities
of dismissive petulance.
But I have grown discontent
with withered flowers and bitter wine
and I reject the limitations
of enforced fate.
I'm attempting to locate
the burial mounds
of forgotten hope
and fragmented sunlight.
In a previous life,
I arranged bouquets
for refined ladies
who reclined in perfumed rooms
of lingering dreams.
Seemingly, I awoke too soon
to a lonely rain
silently sauntering
the boulevards of rejection.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem