(In the memory of apple friend)

Struggling to practise the
torturous art of deliberate forsaking,
with a sensitive heart pounding with
countless sweet memories of the past;
with the river of still waters
in my sleepless eyes,
endlessly reflecting those images
before me everyday;
I’m trapped in endless dilemmas
about returning to the past.
The present bitterness of the past
sweet reminiscences…
The bees of my present thoughts
stinging my heart for the honey
of the past sweet memories.
I bleed.
The innumerable lamentations
behind my smiles…
Who shares but my verses.
The haunting passions,
the ageless infatuations
in the aging blood,
all the stormy obstacles
stumbling the current of my INNER VOICES,
the streams of my passionate verses.
The rains of my fleshy desires,
my yielding to my juvenile temptations
always extinguishing the
flames of my ideal thoughts.
Sleep… away from me,
sleeping somewhere for many nights,
forsaking my wounded soul
in the lands of my poetic barrenness.
Only I for myself.
Solitude loves me dearly.