The day we don’t talk,
For me the sun doesn’t rise,
The day doesn’t begin.
The sky appears colorless,
The flowers odorless,
Birds fly without twittering,
I find a lacuna in everything.
Time seems dull, nonchalant,
But prepared to throw me out of the world.
I don’t feel like living,
Feel like dragging myself from dawn to dusk.
I presume as if someone took the wheel of time,
From the morning and put it right on the evening.
Suddenly I see your message, read your words,
My day begins; I
sit down to reply you.
No comments:
Post a Comment