I clung my heart between two strings
Attached to Cupid's kites
Whistling through September Springs
To land in November Nights
But restless winds were flying high
Stirring a turbulent stream
A sunburnt heart, left to dry
Echoing a silent scream
Now I see my funny fate
Betraying this innocent skin
Just like the margins of love and hate
These kites are paper thin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem