There
In the street of past
Dwells
Some lonesome metaphors
And some broken poetry.
The tree
On the either side
Are withered
By the wind of your bleak love.
Still,
Whenever
I retrograde,
They talk about you
And your love.
They give me nothing
But some pain and words
To write blues poems.
©ECZ||Sat 28 Nov 2020
#ECZPoetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Really a poignant bit of verse, well articulated and nicely crafted with clarity of thought and mind.