What I thought I can’t write.
What I wrote I can’t phone.
What I phoned, I can’t speak.
What I speak in person is dry.
Yet passion hits the shore
In your vision and your short talks.
No such happening is with others,
Even in amorous talks with them.
Is it the sign of pure love?
25.11.99
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem