I bend my head and move around
In a strong struggle not to see,
The un-watered flowers falling
Like you, into the mouth of a grave.
How do I plant hyacinths here?
I can no longer smell and feel
The jasmine air, the soothing breeze
That used to be, when you held my hands
And showed me the sweet alyssums,
And poems of roses written for me.
There’s no one here to make me taste
The warmth of day, the blush of night;
No vaccine for my loneliness.
My head may bend, but the mind can’t:
Your memories echo in me
Like rivers running down their lines.
This place now smells of fresh dirges
That my tongue drops every day,
Thinking of your kissable mouth
Day by day, with waterlogged eyes.
These flowers cannot know the depth
Of the deep bond we always shared,
As we watered and watched them grow.
But they too can feel your absence,
And I know you can hear my sobs
through the ears of red mortal earth.
How do I call on joy? The sun
Is a guillotine dropping
on my neck, a blade
Tearing, tearing through my heart