The breath of the wet mud was alive on the abandoned walls
The scent of the forest kept it a mystery
Until love knocked at the door of mystery
And unlocked every tear in the form of rain.
Her hair wiped the wind of misery
And he left his last touch on her body
Hard it was for her to gather the shattered pieces of her heart
And harder it was for her to wash his touch.
Nights and days made the eyes swell
But no ink and paper she had to write her ballad on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem