The granite towers stand unmoving
collecting dust, and dead flowers.
Unfit markers of lost love, immeasurable lives
simple summaries of complex hours.
The silence is unnerving, a breathless haunting
a gentle tugging at the forgotten bones.
Some too young, some so old; we cannot measure life
It simply grows and diminishes, it simply comes and goes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem