Elia Michael Poems

Today today is your birthday
Happy Birthday to you Tara
What else can I possibly say?
Don’t put on too much mascara
...

Could you translate the dialect he speaks?
I've tried and tried for many, many weeks.
Could you translate those beautiful end rhymes?
I've tried and tried so many, many times.
...

He bent his legs and brought them to his breast
He sat with folded arms around his legs
In foetal style remembering how blessed
He was with Fortune's best and not her dregs
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I think she's drunk, I really think she's drunk
For comments such as hers are meant to hurt;
To what depraved behaviour has she sunk?
She does not think before she spouts her dirt.
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I do not even know your name my friend,
Or even whether you feel as I do;
But I do know I don't want it to end,
By that I mean the daily sight of you.
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I had to hide the person who was me
I buried him so deep within my soul
I was not whole, nor would I ever be
While exercising this kind of control.
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That moment when you look into the eyes
Of someone whom you love with all your heart;
That moment when you look and realize
That in that gaze there is no guile nor art.
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It seems the time has come for him to die
He lies there in his bed, his eyes are closed
And all the time I hear his painful sigh;
I try but it is hard to be composed.
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I am no Shakespeare, Tennyson or Keats
I write because I love to play with words
And though I am not great, my heart yet beats
In quickened way, as quickly as a bird's
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He is, to tell the truth, an ugly man
He is so old with wrinkled skin and warts
He has been so since his old age began
And yet it's said that there exist reports
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