Somebody Tell Him... Poem by Shakila Naz

Is there anybody, so kind and generous
To give me a favor and let him know,
what am I going through?
Somebody tell him,
I still sit at the corner table of the smoker's lounge,
In that café, with no cigarettes.
Somebody tell him,
I still order one Americano and one Spanish latte,
With cheese cake, and no companion.
Somebody tell him,
I still have that poems book on my table
But no one puts white rose in it,
To dedicate me his favorite poem.
Somebody tell him,
I still go to Lawrence garden in the misty evenings,
And walk by my own side, holding my own hand,
Talking to me about his busy evenings.
Somebody tell him please.
Somebody tell him...