Once,
I opened the door for you,
only to let in the storm,
the flood,
which tousled my mind,
muddied my pure white heart.
Now you blame me,
for slamming it against your face,
so I can pick up
these scraps of my life-
unfinished poems
scattered inside a drawer.
I glue my disjointed life
back together,
one verse at a time.
The life you always hated
but never told me so.
It was never yours.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem