She walked by the river,
The stones on its bank were wet..
Heart was the same,
Remembering the name..
That spoke her identity...
Her sad eyes were on the passing time..
Passing.. Like the flowing river,
that made impressions with evry touch!
Remembered and said to herself..
The wet touch will evaporate dry,
like pains heal with sheer try...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem