Each one is a walking Graveyard
Thousands of memories resting;
But not in Peace.
Sweet and sad, scars and caress
Murmuring and whispering in the
Depth of mind.
Rarely comes out of the ground,
Create fumes to makes eyes wet
And makes the heart weigh of mourning.
Though bleeds, they are the soothing agents
Of my lonely moments.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem