The water point of November rains
This morning
Cultivated my beautiful memory
That for a long time has been stockpiled in the sin waste
The Waste of my life
That was slow
To became fertilizer of my soul
From the body that increasingly rotted
Now my memory growth weak
In the roll of the black cloud
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The rains bring back the flashback of your unintended memories and thus wickening your heart n souls.