Yesterday.
The bright red of the petals by the window turned
russet dark, gloomy burgundy.
They fell one
by one,
in slow powdered crisps of death.
Forgotten.
Fierce clouds that rage, in slow boil and finally explode in one finale.
The daggers of rain – She bled her heart dry.
No vial, no
Jar to keep those memories forlorn
Her eyes vacant, no words,
no words.
Listless until the
horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem