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If I were to go,
Of me what will be left?
The skies will be blue to you,
The sun will still show,
May be a little storm,
But nature continues its flow.
Momentum like a comet,
A sight so light, just like dust.
Blow it off the shelves, baby
That's all that is left
My photos aren't in albums,
I know they weren't kept.
The memory of me is rubble dust.
Blow me off the shelves, baby
That's all that I left
Kohl stains on flowery sheets,
A plate of dates on the bedside.
I'll disappear in the night,
Moon as my only witness,
Then the airs will smell frankincense,
And pomegranate color the weeping rain.
YOU ARE READING
DELMITRÂ - collection
Poetryḥqyqt (noun): conformity to fact or reality, state or quality of being true to someone or something, or just simply put: the truth.
