What is this torture ?
What is this deep pain,
a boulder on my chest ?

Breathing, difficult
Thinking, labored
Eyes will not close, sleep will not come
How is such agony possible ?
Such loss

How can our time be gone ?
Our teserak, sealed
The olive grove, reduced to charred rubble
No more silver-green leaves gently swaying –
like your hips –
in the breeze

Moments of saying nothing…..gone
Weeks of work….gone
All – gone
residual only in memory

Is this necessary, this agony ?
Must it be so ?
Must I rip my heart
from its cavity
to cauterize the pain ?

But so sublime, those few moments

This too will pass…..
Does great love always entail great suffering ?

No teserak
No olive grove
No beach
No cafe

We will have to rebuild these





About teserak1

I am Noman
Gallery | This entry was posted in 12 Weeks, Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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