The longing keeps the void
permeated through my senses;
Is it a classical
Clair de Lune playing?
But darling,
a somber music's
howling
the unimaginable grief.
The longing for your presence
but I confined myself in quarantine
Is it the unexpressed love
keep our eyes weeping?
The absence of your warm hands after
the hurricane, I'm frozen
the Siberian wind's
humming
a sore berceuse.
The clouds are gray,
does it make you blue?
My heart is now pounding
defying the gravity—
misery has puzzled me
Is it loneliness painted
on the vacant street?
Now darling, let me sleep.
YOU ARE READING
among all other little days
PoetryThere are these feelings we fail to acknowledge. Let's talk about it now, shall we?
