He said:

You don’t seem to understand
that I’m a poet
My eyes don’t see the same world yours do, dear
There’s no such thing as black and white in my world
For me things aren’t so mercifully clear
You don’t get it do you
that I am a poet

Us poets take things tragically hard
All the sadness in the world is on my shoulders
I’m bending, breaking, wounded, bruised, and scarred
The sooner that you realize
I’m a poet

The better it will be for you, my love
Then you’ll know the reasons why I suffer
And my dark days you’ll be less impatient of
You’ll never understand
you’re not a poet

As a poet
I feel the words your hands can’t as well say
The fact that you’ve known story´s long before mine
Steals my thunder and my joy away
Don’t forget dear,
that I am a poet

I could burn my inner with words like the inferno´s flames
But I will hold my anguish all inside me
And write it down some other rainy day.

Tags: ثقافة وادب وناس // 3 Comments »