A house is new
After many many years of moving in
Until, one fine morning
You add a fresh mourning
Or at least a bucket of sorrow
Carried over from tomorrow.
A house requires you
To feel its walls like your beloved’s cheeks
When you haven’t spoken for weeks
Or search from room to room
Your Love's lost bloom
When you no longer borrow
Your neighbour’s grief
But proudly own
Your private pain.
You need no longer unfold
Cartons from your past
Your house is old at last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your Love's lost bloom, great line..........................reminds me of SEXTAN, OR PLATH.....................................