The courtyard is full
cluttered with sentiments,
sighs and plastic chairs.
He enters the house
with a travel bag.
The soil on which
he took his first step
holding her hands
is to get burdened
with her bones' weight.
Night stands triumphant
on the gloomy carcass of the day.
Wind biting his ears
brings the smell of death,
the smell that used to permeate
during her everyday worship.
Upon the ledge of his shoulders
rest two hands softly. He looks back.
Eyes with the cold stare of mountains
never seen with moisture, have in them
the sorrow of a lifetime;
waiting to melt down.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The sorrow of lifetime, waiting to melt down. Beautiful poem on sharing. Nice piece of work.