Waiting for you was the hardest sabr I've tried to pass, Every second that turns into a minute whispers the sound of mocking, Every minute that turns into an hour yells for me to give up. Still, here I am, mentioning you in my dua, describing you through my poems. It doesn't matter, for I am just the peasant who admires, With hopes that at least you'll live on in my writings.
YOU ARE READING
a statement, with a question mark
Poésie• a leftover thoughts for a friend • Sometimes our loving heart made a statement, while our logical brain kept asking "why?". And here it is, it's a poem, it's a desire, it's a letter, it's a feeling, and it's a statement, with a question mark.
