How can I tell about my feelings?
Shall I stay silent, quiet and tortured?
Love is a reason of my being,
And love is what is preached in churches.
But I should say no word, no sound,
I do not dare breathe your name.
I can't pretend as acting proud
Will bring my soul into great shame.
My solitude is martyrs' ordeals
But saints at least could show their love.
Does heaven hear my desperate callings?
And does it see my life is tough?
My tears are pearls of my desires,
Which burn in candle's flame at night.
In emptiness no one hears cryings,
And only darkness's by my side.
You are my gift, you are my grief.
Though there's no way I can confess,
Be with me, love, or just forgive,
Forsake, forget my tenderness.
How can I tell?
© Copyright: Анн Алымова, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119112410430
Свидетельство о публикации №119112410430
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