The pain burns like the small tobacco
leaves in a pipe under the ashes
The smoke is inhaled thick
Life is in a broken moon,
pieces shattered upon a mirror,
The candle is lit up
the wind blows through
the flickering curtains
while the one who dared love
truly
sits in a reverie of past memories
Inconstancy,
the greatest virtue of a whimsical cynic
who loves not yet shows
that love
True lies,
read between the lines
and the light and shadow of
our experiences,
Yea,
the One is gone,
spent a fortune upon that One,
left no stones unturned,
But now that she's gone
her memories
pick my heart like the roses' thorns
What a laurel upon my head?
What an adventurer?
What Love junkie on my road to recovery of a love that meant nothing and everything at the same time...
Green, wild grass
not pruned is my heart..
A burden upon myself
I am
Love,
like a bitter shot of tequila
has gone down through my throat
on a dry, dusty day.
And ashes is all there's now
in my garden
The flowers she had stolen
and left...
What a marvelous theft?
what a thing of beauty is this craft
of stealing one's heart...
Meticulous, beautiful theif,
thief with smile of pure ivory,
cheeks of milk and syrup
yet a mouth full of lies
that smell like pèrfumes exotic
What a misery I'm
what a gigantic dream
full of hope
and devoid of substance you are...
What life is this?
what love was that?
Nothing,
oh nothing matters now...
For now it's all fragmented,
corrupted and beyond cure...
Aye,
I am a soul of a broken lover,
with no promise of hell and heaven
but a permanent spot in purgatory of your memories
that will never purge....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderfully in garden of love pain burns like small tobacco is very amazing with imagery. Wonderful sharing.10
Thank you :)