The Early Morning
Poetry
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Hear me, I am praying
Hear me, this silent scream
Hear me, my emptiness
Feel me, the loneliness
.
Don’t leave me here alone, dear you glory morning
Don’t let me hold the dead wish while I’m fighting days
Don’t send me a goodbye when you know I just can’t accept it
Don’t tell me the sad-ending part of story, I’ve written it a lot inside my poetry
.
This cold street’s freezing my walks
Surrender
Losing hope
Dying to see my colors faded gradually
.
Dear glory morning,
Tell me… how can I survive from this uncertainty?
.
I stand and await for the answer
Standing beneath the un-colored rainbow
Looking around where no one would say hello
The place is too quiet
And I begin being confused of my own Self
.
That I want to say what my heart has told me within
I want to deliver news about feeling
But it is not that easy
I can’t find the spot to show the truthfulness
.
And she keeps blooming
On her way
Never fail to make me adoring her
My eyes stare to a place
A fiction place that full of her dusk smile
.
If I were doing the effort
I turned up sunrise became apart of me
So I could guide myself to the right path
Without getting tired of this uncertainty wait
.
But I am worrying;
Hesitancy — vacillation — dilemma — quandary
Dear glory morning,
Is it possible for me to unify my love and hers?
.
Every single time I look deep forward right to her eyes,
My heart forces me… asking me to let her know the hidden love
But my mind just againts it all
Lead me to keep wondering and wondering;
Apprehensive — undecided — distracted — restless
Dear glory morning,
does she feel the same as me in that place?
.
I feel this love is so deep
Sometimes drags me up above higher and higher
Sometimes it pulls me away under
What should I do when I am too confuse to decide it?
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I feel my love is sincere;
Illustrating her beauty as dusk
Designing her luxury inside my poem
I know my eyes are painting her smile in the blue sky above
But keep regarding her on how I spell the name — Awsya
.
“This morning I hope more than before, this morning I pray without hiding the truth. I love her and there is nothing left that I can say. What will happen after this, I may be surrender. But before the page writes of “the end” term, can you please tell her that she is my sunrise in the early day… she is my sunset in the late dusk falling… she is my blanket in the cold night… she is the lantern that lighting up my gloomy darkness; she is a girl whom I love the most.”
Tell me it is not over yet, so I can meet with the glory morning alongside her standing next to me — holding hand together, vanishing our long discomfort.
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Dear glory morning, does she love me as the way I adore her?
As I adore Awsya’s macrame art…
April 23, 2022
— BREAKING REZA
