I can't make you feel,
The love that is harrowing,
Consuming me at every opportunity.
I can't make you understand,
The times we spent were fond memories,
That now I am stronger.
I can't make you accept,
The responsibility of my pain,
The pain that you caused.
I can accept that our story has ended,
That life has moved on to the next chapter,
I eagerly write the words.
I feel the warmth of the sun on my skin,
Every time I leave home,
I feel the gentle breeze caressing my hair,
Each time I leave for work,
Yet, the distant morning don’t feel the same anymore,
For things are no longer the way they used to be.
Family & friends are no longer faces I see every day,
Neighbours are no longer people I meet & greet,
And colleagues have now become occasional struggles,
The outbreak has truly destroyed our livelihoods,
Leaving us with nothing but hope.
Hope for all of this to end,
Hope for a miracle in these unsolicited times,
While we push ourselves to the core,
To stay alive in this uproar.
All my poems have,
a sense of betrayal.
A sense of loss.
A sense of hatred.
A sense of melancholy.
A sense of blue.
a sense of You.
he gives nothing away
why should he
he lets them do all the
they are used to it
they were born into it
staying low is always easier
its a gene thing