You said “I’ll meet you
On a Sunday afternoon”
Exalted like a happy child, for this encountering I was.
Neatly I brushed my hair
And put on the ribbon you so much like.
I changed into my flowery black and white dress,
The black and white dress you bought for me.
The kohl pencil underlined my excited eyes
-they were eager to see you.
Playfully the lipstick kissed my lips,
with a reddish fire, flaming its rims
-enthused in ardor, just like our passion.
…I daydreamed about you and I,
About the sweet embraces during our quiet, secret time.
And then I longed about you,
Waiting on the other side of the street,
Smiling with your big gleaming smile.
But, why? Oh why?
The ticking of this clock brings grief within this soul of mine?
Why do the petals of the flowers in my dress begin to fall?
Why, oh why, the lipstick smears my face,
While my mouth utters voiceless screams of angst,
That want to shatter apart the walls of this suffocating room?
Oh my dear, why the tears roll down the cheeks
Messing around with my carefully done make-up?
You told me you would meet me on a Sunday afternoon!
Then why, oh why
My hair is carelessly waving around my shoulders?
Oh dear, why?
The petals of the flowers
In my dress, they keep painfully falling on the ground!
Why in solitude do they want to die?
I hear your voice echoing in my heart.
“I’ll be waiting for you
On the other side”
The sun agonizingly sets down.
The curtain of your life dramatically falls.
I cry tears of ache, mourning and blood.
Why my sweet love, why?
It was just a Sunday afternoon.
It was all supposed to be fine.
Now you’re staying on the other side.
Far away from the reach of my touch.
Miles away from the look of my sight…
Oh, lament for me, you skies!
Oh, world, for the pain of mine, you cry!
On the memory of the voiceless victims that are ripped away from Life and their dear ones, everyday.
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Comments about this poem (...Voiceless... by Besa Dede )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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