The Heart Keeps Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

The heart keeps weeping like a lark.
Into a flower bowl the soul drops.
The wind keeps playing its music,
For the leaves -enchanting dancers,

I am unweaving in the grieves.
Into the coals the eyes would rotate.
My hopes would break into holes.
From the word glued at my palate.

The endless silence between us would
Turn us into the mad, the fool.
What pity are you expecting today
From the ruined and frozen soul?