Silent Sunday

Драгана Старчевич
A silent Sunday on my back
Like a myriad snowflakes falling
My ageing heart is on holiday
Although the thoughts are swarming

A cold wind in my sleeves
Sometimes reaches the spine
I feel bereft of all memories
Your face is just a line

A distant sound of a train
People still come and go
I don’t expect anyone
To deceive me any more

On the wistful horizon in storm
Your heart seems to be losing way
Wanting me to believe
All the things you don’t say

It is snowing in vain
On the fairy tale in my mind
The snowflakes will cover pain
Leaving no trace behind