after love
we soften a bit
i do not smoke
and you do not read
you stand up
to dress yourself
i stay for a while....
soon the room will
be so silent
i can hear the wind
slipping by the window
i will listen
i will give more time
for silence to
whisper
its sound
to me
in a while,
i will stand up
and start to cover
my nudity
it is a metaphor
for an icing on the cake
to conceal
an emptiness
a bitterness
of what i have not
done when
i was young then
when i was so alive
and candid
then i talk to myself:
this is not my house
i cannot call it a home
and so
i must leave to search
who i am
again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem