The Rebellious Time

                                                                                  

Reza Ras

I believe in my love story,

but am constantly referring

for rejecting and omitting

its entire debarred intuitions.

I need my wings,

but still the decipher and frontier of,

the process of actuality of the wings

ah my wings, alas my sprigs. 

I appraise them,

I can see them but,

I can feel them but,

I am aware of them,                                                                                    

and the alerts of

all these ‘buts’.

For you, for you,

and for you;

I am breathing and believing;

but still challenged

in my part, by all elements,

who is this ‘you’?

Is that you; or someone else?

questions, questions, questions;

queries and quizzes,

and this bizarre alarm,

similar to a fear,

which takes my tears

my groan, my moan.

Where are you?

I miss you and I

fantasize you,

but, however,

despite the verity that

I can be aware of you!

I need the silence of

your voice and your presence,

I hate to say “ah”,

and there is where; my

teardrop is revolting to you!

Instance for march on,

occasion for rebellion,

moment for conversion,

becoming a lover;

a lover forever and ever and ever,

even in turn, still,

everlasting beyond a love story.

There is not seduction

there is not my tenement

there is my soul, my  entity,

and my essence.

So at this daylight and age,

there is a lover forever;

eternally, ceaselessly,

and continually!