i pass by the wall
where a picture of
a face is hung,
something that i
cannot just pass
through towards
the door and not
look back at it
again
just a few seconds
i tell myself
i touch the face again
and sigh
it is mine
it was a face then
when i was at your
young age
i was reckless
in that one
it was a set of
wasted eyes
of luscious lips
that took so many
kisses
and let go
all not keeping
one
i leave the picture now
another time wasted
on such a beautiful face
as mine
i must go
to places then
where all mirrors
are broken
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem