The kiss of the wasp
still burns on
my lips. I will ask
the love, what was your age?
The words suck
the essence of unspoken
grief, when life turns
around to say goodbye.
When would you breach
the dam and submerge the
desert of beautiful cacti?
They hold the sap of last journey.
Myriad stars compete
with me to know my
worth in dark. A rolling
death of swans has dried up the lake.
Here goes the killer
of songs. Do not start
bidding to live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The words suck the essence of unspoken grief, when life turns around to say goodbye.... //.... Feelings of the heart nicely expressed. Thanks.