Quiet conversations held together in melodies heard from afar.
Draining interior solicitude by taking every vestige of trials
and letting them form into periods of suffering, never being
responded to in the light of day.
Exchanging feelings and attitudes with silent partners,
staying away from all the elements of friendship.
No one finding an essence except in talent's depths from
underneath beatitudes of religion.
Being stranded in a wreath of death, supposed to be placed on
a grave for the once upon a love before it died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem