Only until this cigarette is near its end,
A brief moment towards the end of it all,
Recalling the pain, just allow me to mend,
Onto the floor the grey ashes gently fall.
In my defence I ask if this was what you intended,
For nowadays the broken shadows simply appear on walls,
Last time it was only in flight we ever descended,
I rarely allow my memory to venture and recall.
Any vision of us, of you, sending sudden chills down my spine.
How could I, yours is a face of which I cannot forget,
The features and colours, every one I wanted to call mine,
Your spoken words rarely ever, and our smiles not yet.
But our hearts throb still, as though every moment is the sun,
Eventually setting, becoming an ending, now there is none.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem