I miss the hours of the purple skyline
it's been a while since the last time,
sky took a dunk in the dark muddy ground
forgotten to wash and be brighten with colors;
because the sky kept holding a grudge with clouds.
I miss the songbirds folklore of early dawn
as I used to lay on top of stacked hay,
dreaming just dreaming of nothingness.
Songbirds and dawn have broken up these days,
they don't bring dreams to my dreamless days.
I miss the constellations in the night sky,
the imaginary whales, unicorns that would come up in my idle eyes.
Since the stars have parted with the nightingales,
they refused to shine.
I miss the rhythm of waterfalls,
the water cascading would always revive my soul.
I can find that rhythm no more
since the waterfalls decided to build new homes on Mars
breaking the loving heart of Earth.
I miss the frog's choir of Monsoon,
welcoming rainfall like welcoming a lost beloved.
Now that choir has ceased to exist
since the rain started falling as diamonds to charm its way to Saturn's heart.
I miss the chirping of crickets nibbling.
At night they would bring sweet sleep to my forlorn mind.
It seems they have forsaken night,
abandoning me to fight my demons on moonless nights.
I miss the sting of rose thorns,
while plucking the roses for my mother, they always stung.
Chiding me, she would put balm on my palms
but now the roses have withered and buried deep,
so is my mother fast asleep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem