PLACE OF HOPES

Written by: George Zamalea


From "Modern Love And Other Poems"

With delighted, overflowed
My fiancé swept away her hair
Over her face; I don’t know if her hair
Is dry or wet; but I just wanted
To see what it so important
For her to be that way with her hair.

With mechanical gestures
She found her hair again.
And with a slowly pace of power
Still her hair drop dead!

Worry does not let her to see that expensive
Drawing was just a singly minded, and she witted
Or twisted it backward.

Somberly, through the sunlight
She did not hold that damned hair for a while.
Again, suddenly, her hands buried into uneasiness fear:
Monday...Wednesday...Friday...Sunday.
With an useful stupor
Of contentment but everything still the same.

Darling! So much to say... 
I say nothing. Would you look at me!

And her hair is falling dead again.
Up and down, dead, me and her! Dreadful hard
To hid again her expensive face
Dry or wet it does not matter
I still love her.