I saw your new love, and I noticed how
Her wavy hair the oval of her face,
The lips and eyes, the lashes and the brow,
Resembled mine in near uncanny ways,
Not pain, but a revolt, within me grew-
After what nights resigned, impassive, chaste;
It is one thing to be bereft of you,
One thing to be so perfectly displaced…
Until I caught her cognizance, wherefore
She yielded out of her possessive pride
As though a threat intuitive before
Were then by her ascertained, justified.
Look, Love: your true-love, in exile till then,
Pieces her heart, and waits for you again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem, and thank you for reading mine!