See, it's not that I don't admire your beautiful eyes.
Indeed, I do. Often and much more than you think.
It's not that I don't look in the newborn night's sky
as the last one I will ever see.
Why? Well that's the question I hate the most.
While the fragrance of old cigarette fills the space around me,
I see spring,
all over the place, birth is taking its own.
How can I think about anything else in this moment,
I wonder… than you,
when you are the birth of my happiness,
and my often sorrow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem