Whisper to me a song goodnight
and place me in your hug
the hug that has the limit of starry skies.
I don’t mind that you have muddy wings
you’ve picked up the dirt from the streets
that you walked at nights,
and by hugging all these filthy souls...
But I don’t hold any complains
That’s how my angel was always meant to be.
So come next to me
and give me your bruised hug
all mine,
for tonight,
a hug of filthy old wings
a lullaby of wrongly put notes,
a goodnight of sorrows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If the wings were never used they might not get muddy. But then what would be the point in having them. Great Poem, thanks for sharing it.