Dear Mr. Distance,
I have a soul across your seas.
When she shall set out
After eons of sick meals
To taste the burger of my heart
Dished in black wares of homeland,
Do trim the nails of your roads
And shut the gasping mouth of your miles.
Do direct the songbirds plying your presence
With this slice of words to my soul;
That without her tapped soliloquy in my skull,
My night does dissolve behind distant knolls,
My lids fumble to hook sleep
And liberate me from screeching winds.
Dear comrade distance,
Whisper to her lighter than the breeze
Which your fretful seas cannot strangle;
Say I still smell the lavender of her warmth
Despite decades even rot of our last embrace.
I still see her glows quenching the sun.
I am dead of romancing vacancy.
When she shall set out to reclaim her throne
Kindly fold yourself beneath her soles.
Yours in trust
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem