when the droplet
floats down the
petal of the red rose
it opens an old wound
deep and which never
really has ever healed
a wound red as blood
time has taken
into its hands and
shrouded around
like petals do to the rose
so that when it blooms
it opens the way to
both cheers and pains
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An elegy both nostalgic and wise. Joy and pain are often inseparable from one another. Warm regards, Sandra