The black bird sat down on a branch of the tree,
Fluttering with the long wings above my head.
The sun hid away behind the peak slowly,
Leaving dreams and troubles of this day unsaid.
My empty room greeted me with faint murmur,
Curtains cut me off from curious neighbors.
The moon lit the stars; winds brought the good weather,
Only my heart is full of clouds and showers.
Coffee in the small, fragile cup cooled long ago.
Like an insensitive stone, the phone seems to be.
My heart cries silently to express its sorrow.
Cold winds, and storms, and tearfall. It’s only me…
When the bird appears tomorrow and the sun,
When coffee cools again and my fears come back,
I’ll pray for a much more favorable season
With optimal temperature, without clouds in black.
But now I am like a spring tree that can’t blossom
For the frost inside I feel. I can’t fall asleep.
The wind strength and the rolling thunders are awesome.
Now I can only dream my forlorn dreams and weep…