Skip to main content

Don't Go to the Morrows

 


Don't go to the morrows, 

I haven't had enough of you

For all my love that I contained 

for the past years was just released. 

And when I see you leave, 

I don't know what to do with all the love, 

I don't know how to complete our broken conversations. 

I told myself it was just a bad dream, 

Only it is not. 

People said we were too good together

and our smiles synced

And we seemed to be in Paradise of love. 

So don't go to the morrows, 

If we stick together, 

We can create a better symphony, 

we can be each other's muses, 

where you can paint me

While I write about you. 

And now that I think of it, 

It has always been you in my poems, 

Several people asked me 'who are you?

I told them you are everyone, 

Everyone and everything that loved me, 

But they were not convinced. 

They want 'the one'

I can't give them 'the one' when there is no 'one'. 

That's when you decided to go, 

Leave my thoughts alone. 

But don't go to the morrows 

If you stay, we can conquer many minds, 

Provide solace to many hearts

Like we always did. 

Tell me if I can chase you if you leave, 

Tell me you will return, 

Don't just hang me here like an unfinished portrait. 

I wish I had the courage to write without you, 

I wish there are enough choices for me to make, 

And despite all these, 

I wish you could help me write one last poem. 


A. C

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Murmurings of Married Women

  I hear murmurings from the graveyard In the West of the town,  Of married women,  Dead and disappeared years ago.  I wonder what a time they had,  What a life they lived.  Their husbands weep and weep and forget them,  They praise how they looked after their women,  Covering in glittery gold,  Buying them silly silks,  Giving makeup for a make-over.  But still, the women murmur,  Their voices seem to break the edges of tombs.  They force the sun to dry out the flowers on them quickly.  I lowered my face and listened to the tombs,  It seems their lipstick was revolting,  Their eyelashes lifted to show the desperation.  They talk about the lies they had to live through,  In fear of strangers' pointing fingers on getting a hint on their unhappy marriages.  They call out their abusive partners,  Told me to look for the broken bangles behind the kitchen for proof,  The blood-stained clo...

A Call for One More Summer Swim

  Dear Oliver,    Last summer was not only about freshly smelling grass and ripened peaches to me, it became something more than that because of you. Your arrival to help my father taught me lessons for a lifetime. It was you who gave meaning to my summer, to my days and its absurdities. When I first saw you, little did I realise that you are going to unravel the real Elio, an Elio who was so much in love. An Elio who was so confused at the choices of his love and who showed the courage to confront it no matter what. I remember when you whispered to me "Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine", the time when I felt as if the four lettered word Elio pouring out from your mouth is all I wanted to listen to in this entire universe. But sometimes life offers us a different path, away from what we actually want.  I still remember the fun we had at Bergamo, the way you kissed me secretly pressing against the walls, never did I experience that feeling ever again. Bec...

Most Nights We are Alone

  Most nights we are alone,  Trying to form a shape,  Wrecking with the pain of a bleeding heart,  In desperation to flatten the lump formed in the throat,  Trying to keep it as calm as possible Not to wake our partners beside us.  Most nights we are alone,  Clenching onto pillows,  Playing loud music,  Pretending sleep,  While we writhe in pain.  Most nights we are alone,  Thinking of faces that promised company,  Faces of people we assumed would hug us,  Hands that we thought would caress us,  And talks that we registered would soothe us.  Most nights we are alone,  Peeling off our gender,  Searching for an identity,  Making sense of our essence,  Organizing our anger,  Revolting against the structure,  Living past the breaking point,  Storming a mysterious body.  Most nights we are alone,  Cursing the dreams we believed,  Blaming the instincts that spurred...