You are not here to weep for me
Not here to wipe off my saliva
That has been dripping from side
Of my mouth since the day I fell ill;
You are not made for my love,
I am like a bird fallen dead in a
Mouldy corner of your backyard;
I no more see dreams of your
Happiness in the wilderness of
Night and no more wish to come
Closer to the essence of your skin;
Don't call me by my name; I
Have lost my name on the way
To mortuary of my incipient soul;
If you do really love me, fall ill
With me, sleep by my side to
The grave and give your kiss on
My cheek bones when my body
Begins to decay slowly by you;
If you do really love me, take
The smell of my rotting veins as
Scent of thin tendrils of creepers
We used to hang onto and sing
Songs of love in your garden in rain;
If you do really love me, call me
In the wee hour of the morning,
Standing on your balcony though
You know I will not reach you ever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The title pulled me right in. I like the pace and anticipation of each line. I really like enigma KW
Wish you a blessed day Sir. My humble thanks.