Page 64 - MAY Poetry Anthology
P. 64


                          BED IN MAY

           I’ve never been in this home
           where a bed made of roses
           and see through nightgown
           to protect my skin

           from the sweet thorns
           of your eyes,
           belong to me.
           I never made coffee for you
           but I offered a strong one to you
           with handful of sugar.
           On the chair, on which I sat
           I left a pierced wish of mine.
           No one could ever predict
           that sting of faith.
           With in me,
           from my beginning,
           I carried a hunch
           that there is a place

           for which I am made.
           I never made a fire there,
           but I burned in the flames.
           There is soup for you
           made with my spices.
           I was never there,
           but my ID card is on the table
           and my file is completely open.
           O God, looking at everything
           I know I am not lost.
           I was nowhere as present as here
           where I never been.

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