You ask why I carry sadness inside,
why I cling to the colour grey,
why I worry about everything
even now, when everything seems good.
My eyes see colours,
my ears hear warm words,
but I know that behind them
there is the silence they will become.
When pain raises another question,
when I look at the grass turning green,
I ask: will you still stay
when uncertainty appears?
Will bound hands and tangled steps
begin to open layers of tenderness,
or will they become only a burden to you,
an unwanted responsibility
for another life?
How much goodness is in us
while things are still bearable,
and how many will stay in a dark room
to share their light
and their love that cannot be returned?