This is how it is:
The warmth of the sun
Shining down my face,
Every morning,
As I welcome the nostalgic coolnes of October,
All things even inanimate carries me to you.
Had there been a minute, or a second,
When I did not have thoughts about you,
Surely, there was emptiness.
But if you don't remember me..
If there's not a moment my name touches your lips..
Then you shall be of no importance to me.
And it shall come to pass,
The madness that is you,
Never to come around again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem