even if i have not seen your scars
they will always be there
you do not have to say a story
how each scar was once a wound with all its pains
our instinct is always to hide them
for who wants to be reminded of those stabbing nights?
when i arrive there it will be another full moon
the sea will be as calm as silk and silver
do not serve upon that tray some pieces of broken dreams
there will be a proper time for all of them
it will be good if we deviate sometimes on those memories
of laughter and child-like innocence
when we were young climbing upon those trees
gathering the ripe fruits and then eating all of them
luscious pulp, sweet juices upon our tongues
freed for the worries of old, dead anxieties, alive on some hopes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem