I'M Sorry Sweetheart Poem by Akhtar Jawad

I see her, I feel her and I touch her,
I love her but she does not exist,
She always comes to wipe my tears,
When I am unhappy with the truth,
I love a lie and the lie is molded,
In a beautiful girl, a beloved,
I bring smooth and shining clay,
Add my tears and make the dough,
Add my blood for a pinkish shade,
I put the dough on a wheel of thoughts,
I enjoy then making the body a doll,
I willfully delay the process of making,
See again and again a cypress tree,
The curls of her body I touch and retouch,
Moon, my friend then becomes her face,
I bring brown silky hairs from the dusk,
And pink milky roses from the dawn,
For the cheeks of a sweet and sexy doll,
Blue stars are then turned in eyes,
And the rose petals take the shape of lips,
When I kiss the doll she opens her eyes,
With a shy smile she steals her body,
She whispers sweetly, "A dress I need."
I request the clouds to become her dress,
And the moon is hidden in the broken clouds,
When lie turns in a dream, the truth interrupts,
She whispers sweetly, "I'm sorry sweetheart."