Blistered orange aching,
it wraps around you;
a tangled mass of hearts and vines,
I suffer like sorrow’s child
silhouetted against the mirrored leaf,
bleeding orange and purple and brazen red
drops touch the sheath of ice, bloodied water,
tangled vines and my own heart detached.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem