The springs on the plateau will continue to flow unaware of your absence
From the out-of-sight narrow streets of your city,
even if not filling in your lungs, the sawdust will fly
There will be yesterdays, todays and tomorrows
Maybe your patched jacket will swing in the wind, heedless that you won't return
Your sweat will dry
Many antique dealers will play classics on their 50's tape without hearing you hum along
Damp family apartments will smell like you despite your ending of a lifelong
Salahs will rise for other loved ones from many minbars you hammered with lust
Never again will my phone ring knowing your the one on the line waiting for me to clear out your mistrust
In the clink of a pot, in the overflow of a clear frothy buttermilk,
as every new tea is being poured to keep guests from leaving
Your sweat will dry.
Kayıt Tarihi : 26.2.2024 19:17:00
© Bu şiirin her türlü telif hakkı şairin kendisine ve / veya temsilcilerine aittir.
