SOMETHING BETWEEN THE READER AND THE WRITER
far from my expectations
never did it come to my mind that you like to read poems,
and that, who would believe, that i, too, come down the plains
to scribble on the sands
far from my expectations
never did it come to my mind that you like to read poems,
and that, who would believe, that i, too, come down the plains
to scribble on the sands
which of course, either the wind, or the rain, or the grass
either erase or cover,
it is in my life map, all roads and paths lead to something metaphorical,
which i know, being an avid reader, and which i hope,
you understand, but, still, has not earned that courage to utter,
or perhaps to tell yourself, that we are in this boat together.
the words are all there in your heart,
your mind is as hardheaded as that wall, and it refuses even to link with a stair.
either erase or cover,
it is in my life map, all roads and paths lead to something metaphorical,
which i know, being an avid reader, and which i hope,
you understand, but, still, has not earned that courage to utter,
or perhaps to tell yourself, that we are in this boat together.
the words are all there in your heart,
your mind is as hardheaded as that wall, and it refuses even to link with a stair.
No comments:
Post a Comment