You, who no longer know that I exist,


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You never knew how my thoughts for you,
were born,under truth of the sun
how they captured you in symbolized honor, 
articulating grace of an Arcadian muse.
 
You never heard my words, 
never tried to fathom the waves of my rhymes
That would have echoed your majesty,
and praised your perpetual virtues.
 
You never felt touch of my verses, 
like rain drops from the heaven
Those were clues of my naivete
seeking a touch to the thousand hues of your aura.
 
Maybe you never felt that you were the first,
still invaluable to the heart who chases you for eternity, 
You, who no longer know that I exist, 
I write so that you will apprehend me,
I don’t yet know how I become a bard.
 
The tears of solicitations lives in my tenderness, 
Every poem I write is like the reconciliation of me with you
Though you wouldn’t taste it,would never embrace
the endless ornaments of my words
Yet I put them up to keep breathing 
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2 thoughts on “You, who no longer know that I exist,

  1. So very beautiful, melancholic, sorrowfull yet strong. I loved this part:”Maybe you never felt that you were the first,
    still invaluable to the heart who chases you for eternity,
    You, who no longer know that I exist,
    I write so that you will apprehend me,
    I don’t yet know how I become a bard.”

    Like

  2. “You never heard my words,
    never tried to fathom the waves of my rhymes
    That would have echoed your majesty,
    and praised your perpetual virtues.” — this is my favorite part.

    For some reason this poem reminds me of Rilke’s “You Who Never Arrived.”

    Like

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