(the last poem written for cheval blanc, and from now on, ultimately, I gave her up.)
From summer to winter,
For days and months,
I try to throw away the strength of feeling.
In space a piano placed,
Imagine your fingers sail through the keys,
I feel that I am kissed.
In deep night,
With feeble light,
I echo your name in memory tight.
On the bed,
Lying with weariness, hopelessness embedded,
I still like to dream of you.
Over the rainbow,
Here comes my shadow,
But you never follow.
I understand.
What’s lost is lost.
I wish you a merry Christmas.
(15th of December,2005)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem