Look, it isn’t the lake that is frozen,
It is my eyes: icy cold, tired of waiting.
Listen, it is not the song of the rain,
but the silence of the snow settling--
burying the grime, you didn’t want to see.
It has all vanished now,
we have now become a lost season.
The time is frozen with my eyes;
the clock’s needle will prick you no more.
Mirror reflected her bare body and flabby face.
Every cranny echoed that lost grace --
surviving relic of the old days.
Her face comprised bland blotches,
withered lips, sunken eyes,
drooping ears and a floppy nose.
She traced the engraved lines
crisscrossing across her entire frame --
living markings of the battles fought.
Sagged breasts fallen and doomed,
and baggy belly bulging out.
She tried to clear her clouded mind --
“The Beach isn’t a place for me anymore”
and returned the swimsuit to the cupboard.
She brushed her thinning dyed hair,
looked in the mirror once more.
Her hazy sight reflected,
the eyes of a man,
which still beheld an image of
a twenty three year old woman
with whom he fell in love.
The leaves that are purple,
do they wish to be mint green instead?
Purple leaves also wilt with age,
and crumble as they die.
Whilst the rains make them animated,
the raspy winds fell them.
They too find the summer sun atrocious
and the relentless winters miserable.
Nature nurtures them disinterestedly,
with no disfavors for being darker, different.
Maybe, I should give you up now.
Let you vanish in the sea of stars,
and refuse to see you twinkle again.
I should let go off this
insipid aftertaste of rejection,
and let it sink in the unfair deception.
I should let the mountain-like memories
disperse like bubbles,
and let the stifled air breathe.
I should let go off my apologies to you:
the tears that burned my face,
barely ever touching your heart.
I should let go off that perfect you
who existed but in my heart.
I must just give you up now.