Never a night passed,
Without her photograph.
It stayed idle, lifeless,
Speaking every word
I wish to hear from her.
Sometimes, I bring her
Closer to my lips,
Trying to comb her hair,
To kiss her forehead,
To hush into her ears,
To tell how dead I am,
In the world without her.
Lying purple with duties,
I wish no man, child,
Shall be late to love,
Or not to love at all.