Whether I count places I've never been,
and friends I hadn't
Perhaps,
it doesn't matter,
for as long as I live, I keep them forgetting.
Encounters I could have had,
romances I might have enjoyed,
- it's all a figment in the end,
wishful dream,
after all.
My heart is cold,
though sun is shining,
and I remember what you've told on the day of departing,
that I am ridiculously old,
and my jokes are disgusting,
then you left and said nothing,
but since I hadn't changed a bit,
and I am still discussing,
the subtleties of good and bad,
in my head,
the peculiarities I've never had,
and how you loved me undiscovered.
I wish I dreamt of you coming back
but the moment is never endless,
and no greater joy will heal me out,
cause my sickness
   - is my sadness.

Farook M.S.