your eyes in that picture insist on asking why
well, i was yet 15 but i already keep a photograph of you
in my pocket,
you are the face of my heart beat in black and white
i often kiss your tiny lips and put you on my chest
as though i feel you one with me
in my sleep,
that was long time ago and the picture suffered
with the way i was keeping it
inside my old poetry books
in those pages eaten by bookworms
some scratches ultimately
are inflicted in your cheeks
and even your lips
have become empty spaces
blurred by time
what keeps insistent however are your eyes
stripped of a nose and lips and even a neck
thriving on lesser hair
and thin ears
they float in that picture
still looking at me
asking
why?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem