It is getting dark now and the rusted red leaves
Of slow October lie scattered in the park.
Moments of doubt and pain flood my memory.
They cut through like daggers. It is getting dark.
Soon the lucid moonlight will glow with sorrow,
As the night strips away this fragile day's mask.
I fear the malignant birth of tomorrow.
How many more questions will I have to ask?
Love's fresh promise has turned septic. And, alas,
Nagging emotional wounds will never heal.
Nothing can hold the immense weight of the past.
Weary flesh and blood have now turned to cold steel.
I cling to fragments of beauty like a child,
But I know in my heart that something has died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem