My dearest Leyla,
I must have been tired of working and waiting.
Yesterday I slept all day long.
This morning I woke up very late.
I forgot which day it was.
I forgot which month it was.
I opened the curtains of my studio flat.
I saw my chrysanthemums had blossomed.
Chrysanthemums cannot be wrong,
It must be the month of November.
It always makes me happy and wonder
Remembering those days of November.After all these years,
still live in the same studio flat.
I still hope to buy a nice house in a nice area
And want to entertain you and your girlfriends.
I still remember what you said to me.
“Don’t worry, my precious poet!
You will have it one of these days.”
You were very sorry for me, weren’t you?
Well, I have been very sorry for myself,
More than anyone else.
I wonder what you have been doing these days.
Perhaps you play your violin in Las Vegas, the city of sin.
Perhaps you receive your holistic massage in a luxury hotel.
Perhaps you flirt with a few men there.
Who knows what my lovebird will do next?
Perhaps I should stop trying to understand women.
Perhaps I should love women
More than ever these days.

G G Gench