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After Twenty Five Years
Not a single call was made, even not a word was said.
In the day of my birthday, turning older and still depressed.
Like if I was the sun behind the huge black clouds.
So many poems were wrote about my missing love.
Still it doesn't seems that I wrote that many, people
Were judging me so miserably as if they never felt heart broken.
Gary colour is occupied my hair and my beard together.
Making feel ashamed to look at beautiful women. Neither
not feeling well, swear of god I'm not feeling well inside my soul.
She was my only best friend whom I loved inside my heart.
I gave her my heart wrapped by a white piece of napkin.
She took it and throw it with a knife stabbing my poor heart.
After twenty five years, my friends still talking too much.
Like the numbers of drops of rain hitting inside me, each
One of them left me when I weep of missing some love.
To the point I started realizing I should move and live,
Inside the grave, even though is breathless space to move.
There I would be whispering to angles so my pain goes away.
Who cares about a poet who is like me, writing about
Love, that is a dream , can't be in real life beaut.
Smiling like a wolf and staying on my own like a clown.
For how long I will be missing the boat of life and age.
For how long tears will stay like a ignore tears in my age.
For how long my hands will keep writing, and death never knock on my doors yet.
8/5/2014
