a bird embraces
the wings of the winds
its beak sips
a cloud
a cloud pours its
burdens
hence the rain
runs through the furrows
of your skin
the contours of your cheeks
the lines of your body
it is all a game
the cards we play
the words we say
we do not really
mean it
but departures sometimes
though usual and routinized
still hurt
there is no complete familiarity
with pain
even though we agree
that this is all a game
that tonight is just a moment
of breathless expectations
when you utter the last word
finally
i think i still cry
my heart still knows pain
a little prick
at the bottom of things
quintessential
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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