Oh, leftovers
Why do we always have leftovers
It never happens that a thing concludes
And gone without leaving leftovers
Or is it just me
Probably 'cause I'm alone
You were here
Then you're gone
And you got leftovers
I can still smell you
Heavy is the weight of your stare
Leftovers in the fridge
Getting stale
You were playing something
Left you for a while
I came back
Leftovers of your rhythm all around
You held my hand
As we listen to the flowing water
I felt you trembling
Leftovers of this feeling
I am certain that we are not meant to be
In time, these leftovers will deplete
Oh leftovers, they now hurt
Saturated, infecting leftovers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem