It was coming
the cold front
and the complex weather
we returned
and the difficult loves were waiting
the long conversations
with pain in the final sentences
winter
gathering her parcel for the victory
stones, feathers, bottles
brimming with light
the troops
breaking in through the syllables
the empty cups
sitting before us in the snow
this
like all the others
a lullaby
a few grains of salt at the centre
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem