My Bench Poem by Anahit Arustamyan
My Bench
My hospital's bed is empty. I am back again with a white bandage. My jade garden hasn't been planted. What color is my passage? The showers have already ended but my bench hasn't been painted. I am back to be a message but my only bench hasn't been mended. My hospital's bed is lonely. It used to touch my body. My bench doesn't feel my fatigue. My bench isn't used to my bandage.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 5:29:59 PM # 1.0.0.1119
