Email Poem

Your IP Address: 3.133.145.211
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
O Girl, 
They are telling me about regret. 

My spices that reek in my kitchen locker; 
My friends smell it in my shirt but never see it on my lips. 

The praying mark on my forehead is a lonely pigeon 
In the nest at the doors of my stupendous grotto, watching the sky .. 1
Wandering its strange sight in the daylight, 
In the blue dome, in the heavy clouds, 
In a mountain top hiding the horizon. 
A lonely pigeon in the nest at the doors of my stupendous grotto, 
Looks for once to the laurel darkness, 
Then flies to the tip of whiteness 
And vanishes in the horizon. 

O Girl, 
They are telling me about regret. 

The people in my small phone index are a rainy forest; 
Its branches with the wide leaves, at the morning, keeps us from rain; 
At noon is a shield from winds and being hunted; 
At night is a clamber for every passing suspicion. 

O Girl, 
They are telling me about regret. 

My formal white robe on my fixed arm is a new road 
By which I pass through, filled with hope at the head of every new year 
By the side of the road. Tents are already fixed 
With its Gypsy wandering and the hands are the stranger's destination 
Stigmatized; they derail the extreme loads on his back 
And roll the wine, time after time, in his mind, till he was covered by dusk. 2
At the morning he opens his eyes "THE END OF THE ROAD", 
And clears out his bags afraid "THERE ARE NO EXCUSES", 
In the medicine book "NO PRESCRIPTION .. NO CURE". 
And I always get back to the road, step on the emptiness, 
And from the shallow side of my broken arm, the robe goes down. 

O Girl, 
They are telling me about regret. 

My spices that reek in my kitchen locker. 
My friends smell it in my shirt but never see it on my lips. 
The bird that I once gifted you, came back -- 
His thin bones now at the eyes of guests is the dinner's destination. And the 
people at the door of my old grave are twaddling and telling me, unbored, about 
the exploits of regret .... 
Forewarning me from the departure 
And silence 
And hope, 
Without seeing the worms on my corpse as sheets -- 
Sheets of bitterness and pain.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required