Lying awake at night,
My thoughts filter through an hour glass,
Melancholia thunders incessantly,
Against my fragile heart.
In a wisp of an ethereal memory,
My heart was once strong,
Fed with ego-flattering, fuelling love,
That i once believed to be true.
But lustful desire never lasts,
My ego died and left.
And the once delicious, succulent love,
Is nothing but a trace of a whisper;
A whisper that caresses my tender heart,
Softly kissing with it's sweet lips,
But it's consumed and devoured, it stands not a hope,
Against the cruel knowledge of insignificance.
In my sleep deprived state, I implore you;
When i wallow in the marshes of pain,
Take my hand, tilt my head up,
With a whisper of child-like love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem