A handful of poems spilled on your steps,
A clump of feelings became charm of your view.
Many pens were broken in this path,
Yet, a word was not heard from you.
Now what will a new pen can do,
When the words are still the same!
How would readers appreciate a poem
When the source is still your name?
I am breaking that pen,
I am giving up on your magic beam.
I surrender all the poems,
Awakening a desire from a dream.
I am leaving the sky of your smile,
The way autumn left me too.
I am saddening all of my words,
Let them all cry without you.