My memories lost upon the dark life sequences, the ever-changing chances of our infant essences
The kind laughter we used to share, dreams afar the faith that at the age of sixteen we use to dare
The pastures green within a friend lost, and all the times that flew like the unseen devout ghosts,
Were like truth that decayed within my flame perpetual, and burned our common thoughts bound conditional.
The definition of soundless dialogues of our poetic friendship, the cries from the dark words of our hardships
The decaying chances, brimming before the great equaliser death, brought the swift lines of our clear birth
Our whole creation we poets and friends, the raw era before departure that saw the premature ends
The glimpse and all sights from a lost friend are neither like the chainless memories that within my
heart begin nor the silent dialogue that forever end
They are now like giants of the sterile immortality, the shadow of my serenity and pain of my silent dignity
The sadness and the bleeding love were never meant to be, our utter crossroad & chance that we both didn’t see
Thus to me a poem to a lost friend is like a song of experience, that with the nature of our thoughts becomes the question of our existence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You have an amazing use of language that belies your years. You must have been born with a wise soul.