the moon took away the memory
of you
the wind conceals the secrets
your shadow dissolves in the
days of my life
the river constantly murmurs
about what happens to the forest
jewels
my hands are closed
they do not open to the water
the rain is no exemption
to this hiding
but then the blankets and the pillows
where the locks of your hair are homed
still whisper your name
in the crevices of artful rocks
your face is carved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem