He is lying like a dead
on his bed,
the bed is mossy, flowery and greeny
where he contemplates his past,
and looks for eternity.
He didn't forget his lost love yet,
he was snatched by a false emotion.
He is lying like a dead
without any notion,
just the bed is his true mate
which leads his soul into motion.
The bed is long stretched,
and the blue sky is smiling above his head.
The bed is his true mate...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem