Thy sonnet

Even when sunsets kneel before the Night

and the sweetest verses no longer rhyme

and rowdy hearts, like horses in the wild,

gallop slowly and slowly to the edge of time;

even when bright days are dressed in grief

and only tombstones remember our names

as soon as we’ve withered like falling leafs

and joined the immortal souls wafting in space,

I’ll still be grateful to the odyssey of life

for the passionate love that’d come along

and the unwise promises that we’d recite;


and I’ll still be grateful to the death’s might,

which made unfamiliar my native tongue,

but kept the flame of your presence alight.

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