20 March, 2020
This poem was written as my tribute to Neruda’s Poem: Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Inside my mind I shrieked until I turned mute,
silence befallen and the eternal song died.
All the tiny beautiful things
that sewed us together,
now winding into a long thin strand
Entangling my lungs, robbing me of my life.
Your disappearance leaves me in a continuous void of emotionlessness.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Your smell had been strolling at the edge of my mind,
driving me mad, mad at the fact now
even my olfaction is under your tyrannous reign — Also my vision,
constantly being invaded by your loving, soft eyes. Also my hands and body,
desperately seeking those counterparts of mine. Also my ears,
echoing Chopin’s ballades that you played for me,
thus away I pined.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines;
no, I couldn’t. For as long I could write, I was still alive.
I could still write when thinking of your being by my side.
Your eyes would wet as I read to you my poem then you would hug me tight.
As this fog of happy illusions gradually lifted, from this world was I effaced.