Frozen eyes and scattered lips, that’s all left in your portrait.
Unzipped wounds of cruelty are stained by scarlet white.
Fragments of linen hold up a fragrance which pierces my nose.
In your eyes, I am seeing me, placid,
But mine turns out to be empty.
You, the missing piece I searched for,
but now what is the puzzle, indeed?
Your pale body still filled with red,
but now I’ve lost all my colours.
Grave news I murmured to those seconds marching on your wrist,
But they kept moving, without any regret, just like the one you loved with your whole heart.
Now, he has gone and I stand still, holding your portrait.
Without a brush nor any colours,
But a need to complete the incomplete picture of my life.
