Death to my lover
is the coldest month,
when flowers grow,
yet memories die.
Here are the roots,
the story of love
that dies with the heart.
Winter comes, the growth of the beginning
Summer comes with nothing but pracheam.
And the rain comes to drench the ahava.
The Sunlight comes and burns the gan.
The last hour left with silence.
Yesh li hammon ohev bisivel lakh.
He came to the mountain of hope and despair.
I was scared of the mysterious air,
but he let me go…
for the first time I knew how to feel free
in the mysterious air.
What comes in this story is nothing but—
If You don't know this,then you should go away from here,to find the answer of the truth.Yesh li shaila bishieval ha ohev, aht ya dat mackarach bi shevel li?"You know the answer
lies within this garden."
I looked within the flowers,
knowing the truth and the lie.
The silence brings around
not even a simple answer.