Poetry Monday

Poetry Monday

Not Today

 

I have written hundreds of poems.

My tears blurr them.
I can't read what I wrote.
Today.
No, not today.
It feels almost that those poems must not be ever read.
Must be burned down into ashes.
Whose particles and atoms enter my lungs.
Everytime I inhale after the longest sigh of sadness.
Or maybe those poems must not be ever found.
Must be washed away.
Into the stream of my tears, your tears.
So I won't have to hold my sadness ever again.
My poems mean nothing to me.
My heart is silent.
I can't remember if I ever wrote those poems
Today.
No, not today.
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