Must we now rename love;
a word, tired in its entirety,
over used in the daydreams of man.
Lying bland in the core of a poem,
other emotions take back seats.
I caught the epidemic, fell victim
to its joy and pain.
I whistled in the dark
when it was near,
and cried in those
once lost sunny corners...
so who am I to speak?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem