Maybe It's Only Imagination (English Sonnet) Poem by Gert Strydom

(for Annelize, in answer to Marija Najthefer Popov)

Maybe it's only my imagination
that tonight you are present right here;
in a distinct and vivid situation
that with a pen in black ink draws you near.

I smell the fragrance of your Red Door,
in the dim light your teeth whitely shine
I see your shoes kicked out on the floor,
your lovely eyes seem larger than mine.

In writing I draw a place with you in it,
even your sweet breath I can now smell,
see the way that your clothes do you fit,
that we are lovers other people can tell.

In reality you exist very far away
and I hear a rooster calling the day.

[Reference: I'm silent that night' by Marija Najthefer Popov

Poet's note: I am quoting the lovely poem of Marija Nsjthefer Popov here as it was translated by Facebook:



'I'm silent that night' by Marija Najthefer Popov

'I'm silent that night
In which we listened to ourselves
Until the dawn
Afraid of not giving us away
A heart beating
A deep sigh if longing
And a cigarette stove
I thought it was back then
That our thoughts were
They used to experience collisions
In some imaginary beliefs
What we used to curl in the fumes
Only the teeth and the whiter are white
While the fire was burning from the eyes
Who we lit new cigarettes with
We were stepping in the thieving
Until the morning calls
The first roasters are awakened
Snuck into the cold beds
Believing
That we kissed all night long
Alone in the world
Which one we have created
In words
To those of us that understand
The ones that don't exist.']