Sing, O Calendar, relentless keeper of mortal memory,
Of Heroes whose hearts were shattered upon the altar of Neglect,
Where once-joyous bonds lie bruised and trembling,
And forgotten dates become monsters of grief.
Behold the Mortal, eyes wide in horror,
Hands trembling as realization strikes like thunder.
The Anniversary, sacred as Olympus' feasts,
Has slipped into the void of forgetfulness,
Unmarked, uncelebrated, and cruelly ignored.
The Beloved, goddess of patience and subtle wrath,
Stares with eyes like twin moons of judgment,
And silence falls heavier than a hundred anvils.
Gifts unopened, flowers drooping, messages unsent—
All bear witness to the Hero's epic failure.
The Mortal scrambles, summoning apologies like talismans,
Pledges of atonement flung like arrows across the battlefield.
Time itself conspires: past regrets and future dread
Entangle the Hero in chains of remorse.
Even Cupid hangs his head in dismay,
For the arrow of love has struck the wrong target.
Yet hope, like a stubborn ember, glimmers faintly:
A heartfelt confession, a small act of valor,
May soothe the wounds of neglect,
And grant the Hero a second chance in the annals of Romance.
Thus ends the epic of the Forgotten Anniversary,
Where love and memory clash like titans,
And every forgotten date becomes legend,
A cautionary tale of hearts broken, lessons learned,
And mortals humbled before the mighty altar of Time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem