I remain lost in a reverie.
I am but like you.

O companion of the last spring,
This year I am alone.

In your lane, all day
I pick the pebbles of grief.

Who will hold my gaze?
I am but your mirror.

Who will light my lamp?
I am your emptied room.

Who but you shall wear me?
I am but your garment.

You… the street full of life
I am the path to jungles.

The coming season shall mourn me.
I am a breath of the dying one.

My wave and my grief to myself,
I am the river and I am deprived.