This sadness is
the poem that, I can't write
& the words, I can't say
These tears are
the secrets, I must keep
from even myself
& the apologies I dare not give
This melancholic morning
is the product of useless dreams
that stir up old memories
memories, that ceaselessly torture
my soul
~Nika
Sunday: Sept.13th,2015
8: 52 am
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
My first response is to say: DITTO. And that's not meant facetiously, because you have drawn a veil over the poem's subject matter and I respect that. Once again as in the previous poem you speak for me too, and that involves TRUST - that if I've entered this space of your poem I also respect the nature of the space which a blessed silence, not an intrusive curiosity or a boisterous banter. It is a good thing to share this silence with you.