At my lonely eyes, you looked once
you felt sorry for my graving soul
you gave your hand and I was not sure
but it was the best days written in the book of memory
but the days have gone like the wind changes it's direction
I'm bound to my bone, I am narrow again
my flesh are like drying leaves, my soul thrives like dying bird
and I'm ready to offshore.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem