Another Birthday


Indeed another one.
And yet still no flowers.
And yet still no chocolates.
Only a card
only a poem,
as you would have expected

from me.
At the moment I have nothing to say.
I'm sitting in my room
absorbing the moon.
Shall I say the truth?
This is who I am:
your son

who is not a poet
but just a son
who writes poetry
every year
for his mother.

The moon is gone.
I am alone now.
I only have this:
a poem.

And that is all I can say.

Comments

AnAk iBu said…
terharu betuull.



belogwalking.
sayapjannaim said…
A really really touching poem

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