The poem
It is all in the mind, you say, and has nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold, the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world. You take my arm and say something will happen, something unusual for which we were always prepared, like the sun arriving after a day in Asia, like the moon departing after a night with us.
May be I can Say
When the sun arriving a day in here, - in Aisa,
You may live in the night, that I left it behind...
When you miss a spring, may be...
I will be in a spring without missing...
When you touch a love somewhere in there,
I would be in a dream of love...
But this must be certain, the poem always will remain behind; because poem is the words of life... And everything can be finished but life stays with whatever we make.