first the crow came often
with a clump of hair in its beak
its glassy eyes would soften
as its wings weakened and waned
now the crow doesn't come
to my tree anymore
but i still hear wings hum
past the crack of the door

There are rows of black birds
flying above us,
my love...
Away to foreign warm places
leaving no memories or traces -
There are rows of black birds above.

There is a strong, cold wind
howling and rowing ahead us,
my love...
The echo of a new harsh winter
like an unseen bitter creature
filling the gaps between us -
There is a strong cold wind ahead.

Am I entitled call you 'my love'?
This autumn feels too cold,
too empty to bare
this bare emptiness -
These gaps between us
like black doves
too bold and unreal to hold.

There are rows of black birds above.
They shall never see each other's faces
as they fly to foreign warm places,
While Autumn and Winter align,
without any traces
of you

We play with silence like a child
plays with a rubber band -
we stretch it and bend it until
it breaks, or until we tire
of the same old game.