I sit in my room, full of dark, full of gloom.
If I don't lay with you soon, I'd rather lay in my tomb.
I sit under a tree, full of light, full of glee.
For you I still don't see, but you are here in memory.
I sit on top of a cloud, not nine, not a smile, not a frown.
Just a song I sing aloud, my eyes fixed on the ants, searching for you in the crowd.
Now, I sit on top of my throne, high and mighty, happy alone.
I don't wish for you, not even for a clone or for you to ever come home.
For if you flew back, as pretty as a dove
and I knew that, our hearts fit as perfect as a glove,
even if you hit me and you shoved,
I would tell you,
simply,
I've forgotten how to love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem