a poem...
a letter kept
in a favorite book,
too long on the shelf.
the memory of your lips,
whispering in a language
that only the wind knew!
now your silence betrays...
we are the grain
too deep imbedded!
the tree itself
cannot remember!
the door that wont close,
the broken pane in the window.
the pot now empty,
charred with before!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem