Here am I,
knocking on your door late at night.
Put on your slippers,
bring your puppy
and your candlestick,
come downstairs, please.
When you peek outside
you see only the dark shroud of night.
Please do not be amazed,
or close the door on me.
It's me -
the one with whom you were most intimate -
standing in your candlelight,
wearing your favored white dress,
my black hair hanging loose to my waist,
like the night we met
by the bridge where gardenia blossomed.
You cannot see me now,
but this should not matter.
Your candle sees me, as does our dog.
And the fragrance of gardenia that follows me
will release your accumulated tears,
and my name you will murmur
softly, repeatedly.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very thorough write. I enjoyed the images you displayed Very well. KW