Nine Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

Nine.
Nine years.
Nine years, my father.
It was long ago.
Was it?
The time - how it flees!

My memories stay, however, father.

Now my emotions more saturated are
Less violent, less original, less raw
But still there.

Every eighteenth of June
How it comes every year -
Every year I wait it
And then it goes:
And I will again for the next year:
And time,
Time passes and I do not know (it seems)

And the vulcan of my emotions
Less violent, less original, less raw
Is still there.

Ah! father when emotions sublimated are
And yet are still there
How cold and warm at once
The heart feels simultaneously!

And memories do not pass.
Within them encapsulate
The emotions original, violent and raw.

And I still weep now inwardly
And tears from eyes have disappeared
My iron forehead
Still and yet
Keeps its memories nine years aback and more.

Nine.
Nine years.
Nine years, my father.