You fell asleep on the couch.
Stubborn little boy.
Your fists were tightly closed.
I knelt to the floor,
slowly stirred you awake.
Your eyes started leaking.
I told you to unfold your fist.
You shook your head.
I told you to unfold your fist,
for the second,
third,
fourth time.
Finally, you did.
There laid a crumpled petal,
with a trace of its dying life.
I faded back into the wind,
you looked everywhere
and found I was gone.
The petal laid wistfully
on your angry palm.
It’s tiniest fragrance
made you weaker.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem