As I wonder, where the nice fragrance of love is gone,
That spilled from the crimson flower of life.
Now when I sweep away the broken glass of the past,
The memory haunts back doing icicle,
In the inner dome of my mind.
Memory stands like a scarecrow,
In the middle of my path,
And diverts me to the realities of the present,
I walk past the doors of an empty heart,
And counts the fallen willow leaves.
Every line is worthy of an applause...and the usage of words adds to the flavour...5*****
Every line is worthy of an applause..and the apt usage of words add to the flavour...5*****
Fantastic use of words. The memory haunts back doing icicle, In the inner dome of my mind.
Simply brilliaqnt..I walk past the doors of an empty heart, And counts the fallen willow leaves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Lovely poem my brother. The metaphors are sublime