Life is not a poem
The dead does not need a poem
When someone or something dies, it dies
It turns into ashes but not a poem
A poem translates
A poem manipulates
A poem dictates
A poem destructs
The truth
is not a poem
-
When I look at her photo in the funeral
I realize I don't miss her at all
Or, I don't really know her at all
And that makes me feel sad
Someone whispers in my ear
"Call her, it's your last chance."
I cannot utter a word
For we have never begun
And I wonder how this could be our last
And boom!
She perished in furious flames
On the first day we met
Hello and Goodbye.
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