I have seen white blossoms
fall into the lake
regardless of political storm 
that surrounds it,
witnessed men build dreams
conscious 
of suspicion that destroys it.
This is not anywhere else 
but here
in our heart that we find conviction,
I won’t tell you 
because
you already know how to do it.

And when the night darkens, 
both moon and lovers go silent 
knowing
that art of pleasing won’t always solve
everything,
I won’t disclose
sheets soiled with regret
a water jug,
a magazine
and roses 
stripped of colour
in a hotel room
where opinions are muffled under covers.

This, I am writing to a friend
who on several occasions is caught by surprise,
we can not go back and start
from the beginning,

nor can we hope to undo grief
and change the person we were yesterday,
I won’t tell you how to feel
offer age old cures that only half believe
I won’t tell you
how to let go of buried thoughts
because
even the wind echoes what foolish sing
I won’t tell you how to go on
because
you are already doing a beautiful job of it.

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Midweek Motif @ Poets United

 

& on the tuesday platform @ Real Toads