Blossoms of carnations cannot distract me anymore. For long they have kind of replaced your memories. Or should I say they've made your memories to blossom in the courtyard of my heart? You said that you were a mirage. A frivolous soul precisely! Whose existence would hold no importance in anyone’s life. Perhaps you were right as I carried on pretty well without you.
Through the window, like a gush of wild wind you entered one day and upturned the pitcher of my heart. It’s good that I lost you. How would I've treasured you in my numerous poems otherwise?