I miss the cinema’s comfortable sofas
At the entrance and outside the screen rooms.
I miss sitting on them, curled into you, ‘cause
We were kids and had nowhere else to go.
I miss the bridge where you’d hold my hand,
And hear my story of when I’d wanted to jump,
Every time I went up there without you I’d feel like that.
I was a kid and didn’t know what to do.
I miss the wall outside my house,
Where we would kiss recklessly, uncaring
About the headlights, and curfew
We were kids and had no worries
Except that moment and when it would end
I miss the weir where we would sit
Cross-legged, music, awkward looks, making
Excuses to touch each other, pushing, poking.
Childish. We were kids and didn’t know how
To simply say I love you.
Indeed, one also misses to read more poems like this one here. What were life without its beautiful lasting memories that carry us across the daily travails?
Forget the form of this piece of writing. In fact, it may be a flaw in presentation of this piece. There is no fault to be found here in the content of this writing. It is one of the very best I have read. This is not poetry. This is poetic prose. It is the highest form of prose writing. Its better than poetry. GW62
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
These are definitely not Amy Carmichael, the missionary poetry