L
Layla Nahar
New member
Hi All,
I've been writing some sonnets to work on my 'poetry chops' - I'm in school - studying music, and the one thing I haven't been doing much of is, ironically, *writing* music...
I think it will be pretty obvious that this is about a boy I keep running into here... (He's in 2 of my classes. )
1
Some days I see you, I know you'll be there,
other days it a surprise, I turn, there
you are. I take you in and you take me.
We play it cool, as if we didn't see
anything out of the ordinary
Cool, as if the heart were secondary.
"I will get through this" but still it lingers -
what happened here? Did we speak without words?
Something has passed between us. If only,
if only, I could reach out when you pass by
2
Perhaps I remind you of someone. That
might explain the close stern way you looked at
me, perhaps examining the details
of my face, my clothing. This somehow fails
still, to reconcile a lingering sense
that we should find a way to cross this fence,
this barrier that has made Israel
and Palestine of us. I know too well
lost chance, missed words. And you? We will still meet.
Never to speak is a kind of defeat.
I've only written about 4-5 sonnets so far. Sometimes I'm pleased with them, other times i'm not. Anyway, they are just excercises ...
I've been writing some sonnets to work on my 'poetry chops' - I'm in school - studying music, and the one thing I haven't been doing much of is, ironically, *writing* music...
I think it will be pretty obvious that this is about a boy I keep running into here... (He's in 2 of my classes. )
1
Some days I see you, I know you'll be there,
other days it a surprise, I turn, there
you are. I take you in and you take me.
We play it cool, as if we didn't see
anything out of the ordinary
Cool, as if the heart were secondary.
"I will get through this" but still it lingers -
what happened here? Did we speak without words?
Something has passed between us. If only,
if only, I could reach out when you pass by
2
Perhaps I remind you of someone. That
might explain the close stern way you looked at
me, perhaps examining the details
of my face, my clothing. This somehow fails
still, to reconcile a lingering sense
that we should find a way to cross this fence,
this barrier that has made Israel
and Palestine of us. I know too well
lost chance, missed words. And you? We will still meet.
Never to speak is a kind of defeat.
I've only written about 4-5 sonnets so far. Sometimes I'm pleased with them, other times i'm not. Anyway, they are just excercises ...
