You recite my old poems―
to understand the psyche
of human conflicts.
The long shadows won't leave
the fingerprints.
Between mind and soul
breathes a language
understood only by emotions.
I shiver when you
mime the real money. I go into
coma, to cross the
river of blues.
Future is pain.
Past was crime. In some god―
night I will write my swan song.
The life's many scripts
will remain unread
buried in the folds of sands.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The life's many scripts will remain unread buried in the folds of sands.... yes, it is. Beautiful poem incely inscribed. Thanks for sharing.