A cognizance,
Forged with regret
Is like a blizzard,
With tears for snow
The reluctance,
To forget, rather than remember
Smelt like the steam of burning ember,
In the ante-median's demise in the chilling November
The noon-time shine,
Shrouded by the drizzle,
Resembles a child soused in stale wine,
With a grimace after surfacing time
The obsolete meanings,
In abused words such as, 'I am forever enamored to you.'
Give such bitterness, in the petals of a withering tulip
That scour across the fissures of two, tangling lips
Does it vex you?
Sent with fear in an epistle that it startles you,
Like a sleeping infant as the clouds shatter in a thunderous hullabaloo
Crying, wailing like a siren, the infant coos.
So a cognizance, a memory
Of which the past buries shall remain underneath the ground
Because in the fertility of oppression,
Memories are consigned to oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem