Serban Raducu Bogdan (7 march 1988)

Why is the rain diluting her image, in my memories of her?

Why is the wind pushing me like a kite,
far from the warmth of her delicate arms?

Why is the sun blinding me, when I wish to adore her lovely shape?

Why is the world so big, when I need her hand to comfort my heart?

Why are the ocean's waves not crushing her ship, on my island's lonely shores,
but instead sailing her,
in the direction of another's lips?

Why are the clouds hiding the blue color of her eyes?

Why is the world determined to hide her from me?

Why can't she shape her heart by my love?

Why is it that I have so many questions without answers,
and why am I burdening myself with love
and the clouds with dreams?