SORROW HAS NO VOICE

                 

SORROW HAS NO VOICE

Where were your arms  

when I was still entwined   

in webs of dreams, 

when I reached out to you,  

tiny arms in primordial thirst?  

You turned away and shut the door;  

I didn't know yet   

how to cry your name.   

For years I wandered amongst   

the trees, gathering leaves,  

inhaling the scent of flowers.    

The marigolds withered,  

the narcissus hung its head,  

you were harsh as a barren soil.  

Now you are dead,   

and I am still searching for you,   

lost,  

among   

frozen  

marigolds -