Echo Of Her Cry Poem by Siviwe Wiseman FIRSTMAN

Before it was wayward of a composition,
with so much strength in my position,

I kept depositing
She depth in listening,

word in the cords of the telephone,
The hour was mild to the night,

light not enough
my face was covered,

with fluff blanket at the dim light,
I transferred my old

anger to her with forceful sound.
Silence was her answers the amount.

Then i expressed the emotion with her attention,
Not paying attention to the load the words could be carrying,

It was like i was on the radio microphone,
And she was on the speaker-tone,

The silence was sound to loud in my convex conversation,
i gain the tension

to the unusual echo in the phone line,
until i realized she was crying on me,

i lost the molded interpretation,
Unintentional i socked to the sound, and i followed it from the source tention.

We both choir the music of cry.
Since it was at night i began to catch a pace to sell my sound of hers,

Surely the vibration in our voices
must have been transformed to noises,

tormenting the waves of Vodäcom,
Since in the progress of our emotion,

the call was cut she couldn't hear me.
Up until today i fear to call her.

We both became frozen in the momentum fridge,
love motion lead me until my pillow was damp,

I woke up in the morning face dry,
in the echo of her cry.


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