I cannot do this,
cutting my thumb, to build the broken
heart. A succinct story sits in the sun.
You snatch my peace
of third eye. Now I want to cover the
saga. The abstract will give torments.
Any confession plays the
trick. You are wounded without words.
It was the modernism of love?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are wounded without words.......poigantly expressed!