Two things I know with certainty:
It’s a poem
it’s not about love
Sometimes I love you, Sometimes I don’t
When I don’t, you would love me more
is that why I don’t?
I am me, and you’re you
and we’re not what we should be.
we’re who we are.
days pass and I hear every voice except yours.
the sound of the tipping water, the owl in the gloomy nights
the train from afar, the wind whispering and the light sneaking
the echo of your absence is so loud,
loud enough to conjure your presence.
is this the reason I never call you back?!
sometimes I’m certain that you’re you, and sometimes I’m doubtful.
doubt sneaks in making myself not I.
the loss of you leads to the loss of me.
And sometimes I like to lose myself to spring, to the sun and to the poem.
but I don’t like to lose you.
I’m not a doll collector, nor a selfish self
I only need you.
AICHA BINT YUSIF 