Memories do not
Contain themselves.
When dawn breaks
Earlier than coveted times;
When morning springs open
Doubting atrocities;
Surely, thoughts
Do not contain themselves.
As discerning creases,
So does yearning.
As emotion ceases,
So does the mourning.
Once the feeling dies,
There's no more left
But the dying
Of dead memories.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem