If my words could bleed
If my poems could speak
You would know how pure and true
My love is for you
If my books could define
They’d tell you
How hard it has been for me to be without you
And still smile.
If the walls of my room could explain
They would break the silence, and you’d know
How I have felt and still managed to remain.
If the fan in my room could talk
It would reveal
How I have stared at it
Even when the hands in the clock were striking three.
If my pen had a voice
It would brief you
How I have scribbled it
On blank pages so moist
And if all these don’t explain my condition well
Ask my pillow then
That remained wet all those night
Wondering how you would have soothed me
In those moments of fright.