Fragmented
Thoughtless deed
drowning
the tender loving day.
I grieve it's wake -
washed-weary hours
where a tablet cannot curb
the spin-dry mind.
I still see your face-
the open wound
searching mine
in hurt confusion
and the wrenching silence;
too late now,
and much too soon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem