One day, I'll write my last poem,
and it'll be about you,
about how the gold and silver,
and entire jewels of the world,
were rubble and dust in front of you,
about how the Moonlight was,
dim and dusky as compared to your eyes,
about how the path you walk on,
turns into spring,
about how the buds that never bloomed,
turned into flowers with your smile,
about how the man who died of poison,
woke up after you called his name,
and everyone will see,
my words turn into birds,
birds who sing day and night,
about your heart that is kind,
about your eyes that shine,
and the tears that fell on the paper,
every inch wet and crumpled,
I will write on every corner,
how your shine brightened the world,
how the bees touched you,
as if you were the honey they wanted,
so one day I'll write my last poem,
and after that no word will escape,
from my lungs or my throat,
I'll cut my hands so that,
they won't be able to write about,
anyone else except you,
©Sakura Sakka

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