Now that you are away
days are falling apart
and I feel
like the stripped chestnut tree
that stands skeleton against the sky
and the colours of flowers are trying
to match your eyes
while a drawling sun
at of the beginning of winter
hangs in the sky.
The rest and peace
are suddenly gone
while I walk purposeless
up and down in the garden.
Bougainvilleas pierce me
when I cut the stems
and at places I am scratched
and there are other places
where I bleed
and I wonder what it takes
to let a perfect flower grow,
or do you look past it
while the glare of the sun
almost blinds you
and do not know how lucky you are
when you have all ready got it
and all others fade away in her shade?
