In this world
of pretense and perceptions
you are the language
of love.
When have we spoken?
When have we not!
In the silence of words,
I hear the soul out loud.
You see this,
I see that.
We see through.
We understand.
Every little blossom of love,
I keep safe.
It`s mine.
Is it yours?
But we are the ones living.
Do you believe?
In the middle of indifference,
And all the notional nonsense,
I see you,
I see me.
And...
Till you embrace,
I`ll cherish the sweet pain.
You ask, “Is it mine?”
ReplyDeleteHas love ever belonged to anyone?
It is a lamp that burns for all,
Yet rests in no one’s hands.
The world watches—are we living?
No. We just remember the moments that felt like life.
You see me. I see you.
Yet perhaps we shall never truly touch.
Then so be it—
The sting of your memory,
Shall become my final comfort.