When It Hurts Poem by Prandy Clark Banawan

Sitting by the chair made of a bamboo
Nigh a tree of height I don’t know,
Lyin’ before me a green meadow too...
Thus bid my pen of words to show.

So low yet very and very haste.
A breeze upon me had given embrace.
How I’ve been longing to make a chaste,
And breathe all breezes that’s blowing my face

But my every wants and my every likes
Had always been met by many dislikes.
That every time I wander in fantasy
It always brought me reality.

To whom shall I confess!
To whom shall I shrieked…?
Is there any caress
Which will say I’m not weak?

I am scared…totally I am
Anyone out there can make me calm?
I wouldn’t care if you think me coward
Who never dare a step looking forward.

So when you are to judge me then
In a night of coldest frost
Then I shall be, for sure, a falling rain
In a teary, dark cloud’s ghost…