On a lonely Autumn day,
the trees whisper secrets
to a say heavy with gray,
their leaves falling like quiet tears.
The air carries no voice,
only the echo of steps
that fade into the stillness.
A bench waits in the park,
its wood worn by seasons,
its emptiness mirroring my own.
I sit with the silence,
a companion without a face,
while the world turns,
unnoticing, unmoved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem