neither you are in my heart to love,
nor in my organized mind to hate,
where you had gone, I can't figure out,
but you sneaked out, not leaving any note,
Is your nose short or long,
Is your face round or oblong,
what is your smell? Sweet or foul,
you are gone not leaving a bit of soul,
Now, my garden is full of blooms,
which I tenderly grow on my own,
days and nights disappeared,
in silence to skin off my wasted.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem