The day had grown
and a wicked night
in the darkness of his eyes
had stained his life.
He wore his uniform,
his cane white,
the starts were bright
but he was gazing at the void.
Through sounds he could
sense the streets.
With smell he was seeking
a woman’s figure.
He could not remember her,
he didn’t know if she was alive,
but it was her scent
that guided him to her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sensitive as poems must be.