It awaits...

The letter you had sent

it still is in my pocket

unopened unread unwrinkled

above my heart it awaits

For i know
...this...

it's not the time

it's not the place

and its not for me

But 

for him, him
 my best-friend

...mine...

whom you love

as i have loved you

that friend who 

in the front-line

 for his motherland

for hundreds of his brethren

one as me
as I for him

is fighting

is struggling

is awaiting

for peace to come true

for love to win the petty hearts

like he had won yours

like you had won his
as you did mine

and still do

- 

Don't worry

he will get his letter

when he comes back

and when  my duty  starts

he will smile
with joy
with longling

i know
so will i

as I pat his back

till then...
till then,

 the letter you had sent

it still stays in my pocket

unopened unread unwrinkled

above my heart it awaits

His first...his last

Smiling he lets out
his breath, last
remembering till the end
of his memory then
of her...she his first
she whom he had never kissed
she with whom he never dared to talk
or hold hands and go for a lovely walk
she whom he had only watched from afar..and lived
 only to, to love, so he lived
with love from his heart
with love from his very soul
never letting her know
keeping feeling buried within

yet, in time, it was him
he, who saved her from herself
when she tried to take her life, her own
when she was broken, battered, all alone
it was him who left flowers in her doorsteps
with a note without name
"You are not alone, you can win, soon...get well soon.."
it was him disguising as a nurse, all covered up
singing her lullaby till she had slept sound

And then...it was him...who else but him!
who stood by the door of the church
watching her so happy, so radiant in her white gown
married to another man,  rich charming handsome
which he himself, he, couldn't be, he never was, to begin with..

Still he smiles now, like then
feeling her joy, so attuned to her happiness
her's was his, so it was, and so it is
a beautiful light she, she always radiant
she who made him, whole again
when once she had smiled, by chance
without disgust, without repulsion
despite the crossed eyes his
despite the disfigured jaws
despite the clumsy walk his
despite all nature forgot to bless him with
bitter he couldn't be
from then, again or ever
he changed for the better
for she is became a part of his nature
he couldn't not love
he couldn't not care about
until the very end
as the breath his rattles
in the room down below, the basement
all alone, in the dampness, surrounded in dark
yet, without loneliness a shred
he smiles knowing she is here
here with him
with that smile, that memory of smile
as he lets out his last
smiling laughing in joy
she, his first...
she, his last...

Lonley nose

A part of the dying man
cut off from its rightful place
sits there, there still
in the dark corner by itself

That part, a nose, an aristocratic nose
humbled more that its owner ever will
motionless there amazed from being alive
and sad more, finding none like itself, alike

Then, it knows its time
so, it looks up towards the gray world
where dead hands dead feet
dead whole heads and dead empty eyes
and what not's that made man, complete
lay in chaos, way-laid lay cut off
Alas! not like itself, so alive
kicking and well
picked up by scavengers now and then
tis' a feast like none another,
but to go further, thinks the author
tis'  be not one worthy tale

Now and always...

She is the wild flower

To be looked upon

To be admired

To be praised

not to be plucked

 not to be domesticated

for she has a will of her own

for in the loneliest hills she blooms

she of the natural beauty

she, the rarest of them all

above all the green

above the  trees tall

nearer to the sky so blue so open

 she simply blooms, there aloof

where in that isolation, she is truly alive

seeing which the beholder in such surprise

Longs to make her his

Now and forever

Now and always

 ...