Once, I used to gaze at the dark moon,
I wandered through the abyss,
I saw the snake’s skin,
My heart was not this dark,
I felt more love,
I read Beddoes,
Everything has grown colder.

You entered my kitchen,
a magnificent, radiant light.
I wanted to say magical words,
but I couldn’t dare.
I loved you,
You said nothing,
but made me feel
that you understood my pain.

We often strive to create something great, but end up with garbage!
We feel disappointed in ourselves because we fail to astonish ourselves and others.
That's why we must not stop trying and practicing patience we should fight and improve the quality of our goal-setting.
In the end, something will come out of it, we just mustn't give up.
But also know this: someone will always appear and say disparagingly, "Whose trash is this?"

I remember my mother’s tears,
when I had a cruel illness.
If I hadn’t seen her tears,
I probably wouldn’t have recovered.

Silence deepens within me like a black rock,
when scientists discovered that even plants speak in their own language.
My silence remains silent, like a thorned rose untouched by anyone.
Only I know the depths of that rock, the breath of the rose’s silence.
And my black heart,
my breath of stone,
which is terrifying like the portrait of  Gray, weighed down by its gravity.
my hands that cross in sleep, protecting me from loneliness.
Oh, my silence,
my silence,
silence,
dark silence,
shrouded in mystery,
you, yourself, within your own being.

When you read a poem from another era,
where certain themes were forbidden,
it feels as though the author died in that moment,
unable to express the words exactly as they wanted.

It’s a cold day, sunless,
I took a walk outside,
The chill reaches down to the bones,
People move swiftly by.
Markets are bustling,
Prices on products
Are already high.