He lowered her comatose body
down to the earth lone
wrote an epitah on tombstone
'Here lies my ephemeral love
she rests in peace and so do I
her scent entertains my olfaction,
only anamnesis of the little dove.'
Little would he imagine her writhe
shell-shocked she bestirred to breathe
unheard pleas, stifling wrestles, she gasped
for the last, for the fact
ratifying the Epitaph!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem