Where is the sharpness of the knife that used to cut us sweet,
Have the stones gone soft or our hearts grown into damp wood
Could we not bring that spark which we used to have in our hug ,
Where gone those passions rich and glowing, could not we renew
Them again? The wind is very harsh now and nights are nasty cruel.
Where is the raw smell of the roses which used to make us mad
Has it gone down floating with the stream of time or blown into
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem