Why embrace me without love?
Why pour such hollow words inside my soul?
Why trust that burns and stings like blood?
Why offer warmth in bitter cold?
Why do we come when there’s no need?
Why grow eloquent again?
Why lie and say we’re meant—indeed?
Why do our voices turn to play?
Why let ourselves be fooled by bliss?
Why cling to dates we won’t forget?
Why does that frozen landscape persist?
Why poems—romances—sonatas set?
Why are we dear to one another?
Why doesn’t hope run out at last?
Why are those colors dull and smothered?
Why does a tear ring out for truth that’s passed?
Why do we play at being in love?
Why shame ourselves when it is done?
Why do I write to you again?
Why knock on doors that won’t be opened?
Because it’s everlasting spring.
Because your gaze is like the sea.
Because with you life tastes of sweetness—
And without you: grief, grief, grief…
Why
© Copyright: Нимфа Мания, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126032401407
Свидетельство о публикации №126032401407
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