We Don't Talk About Things That Mean The Most To Us Poem by Saweini Laloo

We don't talk about things that mean the most to us
Sometimes.

Like that particularly green day
As a song echoed over the valley
Drawing out a Raven from its nest
Watchful eyes fixated on the black bird
As it danced to the tune

Or about those yellow days
When hands froze
And eyes decided to shut forever
Parts of this living soul
Died too
As it bid adieu
To pieces and memories of itself
Inside that wooden box

And sometimes,
Sometimes
Words are not enough
To utter those simple letters
Hidden so well upon one's sleeve
For fear that if words flew
They would disappear
Into thin air
An empty chest in its place

Silent moments
Held within
Are only ever spoken
With time's consent
And the heart's agreement
That softly, softly
Feet have moved ahead
And one can now look back
Fondly, fondly