Closing the worn out pages
Of my diary, I have sat before
A new page without any
Memories of you,
The tree opposite the window
Is full of tender leaves
Ready to give birth to another spring
The breeze touches the skin
Underneath my ears
Giving memories of childhood
The tears have gone dried
The mind has gone faded
I am smiling in the present
And enquiring deep within me,
'For how long can I live? '
I already knew the answer;
' A very short time indeed! '
Then I have muttered to myself:
'Well, then be busy
'Tis the happiest
And the most valuable.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem