With sandalwood undertone,
Dried rose and juniper leaves,
they linger on, wafting, whispering,
The scent of days long gone.
Behind laughter and clapping hands,
A keening trill.
The scratch of wood and the smear of ink,
echoing in punctuated memory,
the sigh of what has been.
Madly spinning,
Madly crying,
Madly laughing.
Plans upon plans
on secret handshakes and special places.
Jack and Jill went up the hi; ;
We lived to live the next day though.
Never wondering.
Never stopping.
Never pondering.
Magic and lipstick,
songs and high heels
The band played as we stepped upon the stage.
A fluidity of motion,
we wiled the time away.
Like coruscating diamonds,
under spotlights and sweet limelights,
we Lived.
Dancing, painting, threading,
the glimmering magic of youth.
The essence of nostalgia
is that what has been can never be again.
The essence of memory
is to define the definitions we've long set.
And with the songs I've sung
and the people I've met,
I'll always remember.
My dears, I'll never forget.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem