(for Daleen)
Somewhere in the subconscious,
in the soul the roads
of that which is love
is burnt into the heart of the brain
about the light in the bewitching green-brown eyes
or the sound and tone-colour of the voice
and the gleaming of lips that could scold,
kiss and laugh
or the throwing back of hair from the face
in a unknowing movement
or the hot touch
of a small soft hand
but here in reality
all of these things have lost their meaning
and the loss of you
do now eat like a cancer on me.
© Gert Strydom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem