A Sweet SongI congratulate your eyes for welling up
With tears dipped in the curse of love, and
Though broken-hearted, youíre now a cut above
The hollow people around you. Trust me, my dear.
We live alongside balloons, gassed up on their own
Importance, yet afraid to be stung lest they
Deflate and crumble under their own weight.
I congratulate your reaching lips whose kiss
Surely has freed you from the grip of ennui
That creeps upon our body in sleep. You flew,
And crashed but still, the sky remembers your skin.
Trust me, my dear. We live alongside thick vines
That clutch and grasp each other and suffocate.
They call themselves lovers but are mere accomplices.
I congratulate you, most of all, for wielding a heart
So pure, simple in its wants and needs
That Shakespeare would bleed and his red poetry
Would be nothing before your aura. My sweet, you speak
In all your actions, and yes, some who read them
Are ignorant. But do you judge a poem
By those who scoff at it without knowing why?
No, you sigh and sing it to yourself.
Trust me, my dear. And just be thatís enough.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 41 times
Written on 2022-08-04 at 16:51
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