It's not as if I owned your heart.
That is the mistake of the lover
who thinks his beloved is no longer free,
who is dismayed when she blooms
into a new confidence and flowers
in acts of independence. He cannot see
he is still the shining center for her.
His heart no longer informs his actions:
He misplaces his tenderness, claims it's lost.
What remains is hurt And he turns away
from her light, seeks a dark solace in envy. Bright keys only they heard in their song
of love fall flat. The music they knew snaps,
no longer able to turn passion into love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Return to me, Brick! Return to me! ! ! this sonnet produces an impression of an eternal wheel. I read it and then again and then from the middle and again. it absorbs. I turns to he and may be it is he, he, he, which makes this eternal rhythm.