The clouds are thick and eloquently swollen;
With grey emotions of loss and irrationality;
The heart drenches with tainted expectation;
Shivering under cold embrace of melancholy.
The sky is scarred and with thunderous rage;
The soul is as thin as the solemn breeze;
That strokes the lips for the words of love;
And touches the skin with painful memories.
The heart aches and eloquently swollen;
Pleading the mind for something to remember;
And something to forget, all the while standing;
Abandoned, under the this bitter rain of November.
This is exquisite and somehow hard to touch, in all it's loneliness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Words have a solid feeling to them.