Thursday, October 6, 2016

84














84


Stop all the clocks, cut off the WiFi,
Prevent my  iPhone from beeping with a message,
Turn off the music and changed it with sound of my heart
Bring out the cloud, let the everyone leave. 

Let planes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message that SHE IS GONE,
Change the numbers so there is no 84,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. 

She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week,  my VBA and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Yahya

based on W. H. Auden poem.

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