flushed pillow
hug it tight
the noisy rain
envelope the night
does it makes sense
what it was
is it still
days pass
roll the ball of doubt
I see black and white
every whisper
gently down the drain
it’s not too late
pick them up;
scattered pieces
roads may cross
a long way more
we’ll wait;
just find me back
my butterflies
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem