Your beauty,
I do not discuss with my friends.
Everyone thinks now nothing is left
between you me,
and I lie,
I have forgotten her,
but still I feel someone is chasing me,
slowly and gradually is erasing me,
your pencil work on a white paper,
has not been completely erased,
if I continue being chased,
I think,
I shall lift my brush
and I shall paint your pencil work
on the white canvas of life.
I painted it as I was chased.
The years old painting still exists.
One again I do not go where she goes,
I do not walk where she walks,
her beauty, with my grandchildren,
I do not discuss and I do not talk.
Nobody thinks now nothing is left,
between me and her,
and I lie,
I love your grandmother,
though I don’t feel someone is chasing me,
slowly and gradually removing the dust
from the painting of life.
I wish I could paint once again,
a new painting of life,
but there is no pencil work from her!