returns are different
happy and sad
we are throwing travelling luggage,
we are running all over familiar angles
in order to smell the odour of walls,
appliances, furniture, and
old books in the library
everything like before
the smell only wafted
the one, of which your
shirt smelt in the day
of my departure
today everything fresh,
even window frames have
the completely different colour.
I know, painted (are) for me.
well from, when you were missing,
you were supposed already to be.
when are you coming back?
sadly for me and I am waiting
... with the supper
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am getting to know! One of your first poems :) now the same I like him. Beautiful!