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Dreaming On A Concrete Stool

Dreaming On a Concrete Stool

I painfully remember the stool under tree,
where we, as newly arrivers to the city,
sat resting tightly in a lovely quietness,
hugging each-other in warm sweetness.

Tempted by the desire to dream,
away from the stool the image flew,
deep into distant desirable future,
as in fairy tales ourselves we threw.

What we had gone through said to ignore,
our past happiness fervently remembered,
a new dream were weaving once more,
when two drops of tears fell on the stool.

With the burning miss you to remember,
from a vague distance I returned again,
I saw the tree fully covered in frost,
and the stool had become an icy rock.

Everything had plunged into darkness,
seized by sadness, stiffed in loneliness,
feeling like a stranger into this emptiness,
how could I sit on that bitter coldness?

Scared to death, my eyes I threw
on that concrete stool once we sat,
as two jewelry stones in my image grew,
those two drops of tears I’ll never forget

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