Be careful,when you deal with me.
Things are not at all happening
the way they should, they would.
A converting machine is working
somewhere! A force pulling
everything in its stomach twirling.
As if,finding more meanings
except one it means is its only job.
I am afraid,really afraid
things will never be the same again.
I am afraid, you’ll soon
dislike this person who cannot say
yes to your yes
and no to no,anymore.
Friends,I am afraid,I’ll
lose you more who are already lost.
I should not write about you.
This is not wise, not decent.
Not yet illegal, though.
I don’t want to impress you.
There is no point in it.
The end of our story is already old.
Maybe I am practicing bowling.
Maybe I am checking
the ground reality of the pitch.
Does the ball bounce?
Does it spin? Or it just sleeps
when it reaches to you?
They would say, this is a shame
but no one is there around.
Not even you.
Only me and my heart,a police man
who always hunts you out
to play this shadow game.
via A Shadow Game.
I will probably write a poem
to hang this evening till death.
No hope that it will survive
the harassment of time unkind.
Else,I kept this evening for you
but you have lost the reason to take it.
Wish those days did not change
and I had no reason to interpret
what you say and what you mean
and what you mean but never speak out.
Wish I did not buy that instrument
which only increases the distance.
I could then arrive to your door by walking
to give you no chance of saying any excuse.
But most of our wishes are not fulfilled
so I’ll not move and allow this evening to perish.
via Death of an Evening.