"untitled"

Rose

i-am-you:

When your petite hands        
offer me a crimson rose,
I’m reminded: the dark flame
of your soul.

I am afraid to touch it,
And feel sorry for myself:
I am already seared with hurt —
You will burn me again.

Fricis Bārda (Fricis Barda, 1880 - 1919)

translated by: I am you

collaboration with : a poet reflects

via i-am-you-deactivated20110420