Yawning of dawn.
I scribble a note for night
to come again.
And I try to write a triolet
in memory of moon;
who forgot to say goodbye.
A pigeon flutters in my chest
for a beautiful bride,
who was fond of pecans.
I have not much to show
except my trembling hands
which could not light the -
lamp in dark for once, to
read the face of eternity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is hauntingly powerful and moving piece with an embedded unconventional triolet. An inspiration for budding poets to learn more about pouring the heart into different types of poetic form. Thank you