October, September and three months of summer,
And April and May - here unfolds our drama.
I don't have the strength to reach out to you
Through March it is February binding me too
And now it is scratching my soul with its claws.
Its winds – in my face they are blowing so cold,
With power bestowed upon them by the nature,
They cruelly mob me to say I won’t get you -
(They torture me saying that I’ll never get you).
Why are all my stories like tragedies told?
Why am I like winter so ill with this cold?
Why is it your gaze I have always to check?
Why am I so weak to just stop looking back?
Will I become even with fate and with time?
If you’re nОt in this world will I still call it mine?
And how many heralds from Death I’ll receive
Before in forgetting success I achieve?
I fear I will have to die unbeknownst,
Because to forget you I fear the most.
La piel quo habito
© Copyright: Серафина Лесская, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117122012099
Свидетельство о публикации №117122012099
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