</>Since I couldn't embrace you,
I came to you across the barrenness
of your virgin words
holding your smiles against my heart,
like wisps of withered flowers.
We shared the silence, as echoes do,
each having a share of colourless sighs,
deprived of the terror and the light,
casting glances to the windows,
where all is left.
You then became touch and sentiment,
and there was a tiny talk between
your twigs and mine, inaudible and childish,
as gentle and complex as it's always been.
(9 June 1990)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem