We lay in the field of sorrows.
Our faces scrabbed with blades of grief.
On the brink of desires
The hot steam of memories rip off our flesh
Leaving naked our souls.
Tears whirl on our cheeks
Like a sick storm of sentiments.
Our hearts cling
In the molten mirror of our longing.
Years go by,
We settle like dregs
In the vessel of future.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem