Perfums of the pink acacia,
a moon crowned with lips of fires.
the silent vision of some bodies,
in a flowery bridge.
Images,
intimate secrets,
breezes of aromas,
destinyof time.
A good body does not age quickly,
everyone knows.
Song of the night to the light,
shine of eyes without light
howls of loneliness,
and only a small pain.
The memories spill,
sneak in the sand,
and for tomorrow........
no traces
And the raging winds will roar.
There is nothing more visible than what is not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem