Keep the chair, the pets,
the artwork, the antiques
and I'll even throw in the garden hose
Just as long as my fate, a rose
In your hands bleeds hope
and crouches underneath
the memories of togetherness
that dispel insecurities, prowess-
that make me infirm.
Sitting, back straight eyes closed
legs crossed hands clasped
you sang, a low voice. You gasped.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem