Oh this beating heart of mine
beats not just for me.
It has a rhythm all its own
and beats irregularly.
Sometimes it's steady for a while
and then it skips a beat.
I often wonder when it happens
does it remember it's incomplete?
Incomplete for lack of love
That somehow has been lost.
Or is it trying to remember
like wintry panes of glass that
have lost their icy frost?
That in the past so long ago
regularity was its pride.
And now it's trying its best
to handle the loss
of him not by my side.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem