*English version of the poem, SURAT ITI SARMING.
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“Only you,” my index finger wrote
on the foggy wall of the bathroom
while I was washing you off my body.
The strands of water
above my head were warm
but I was freezing
as I watched the words
slowly melting like tears
flowing down towards the drain.
I know, flowers don't blossom for us
unlike they used to and I could no longer
dress February with
the fragrant garments of May.
In our room, the wind
comes an goes
through the window like a robber
who steals piece by piece the scent
of love we have made.
But the power of the wind and water
couldn't sneak into this heart
and mind to remove your memory
or to let the pages of the calendar fly
with the rest of the beautiful may of February
you left me behind.
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