'How can you measure love, with words? ',
someone brushes on her stone
with the color of the sky.
And as I see her face, a white creature,
almost smiling, happy, contented,
slowly sinking, towards hell,
being covered by the ground of the world,
and the words of men, of priests,
and as her friends go, in a weird and silent procession,
towards their dusty homes
I start to remember why I came here,
why I came to see her trip to the grave.
She was the bearer of my first kiss.
And then I say to her, whispering,
like I did with the love, in my poems:
My love, why try to hide your lovely face from me, in the grave,
don't you know I'll follow you, across all hells
and heavens too?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem