Poet: E.Ergin

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it is the wasted youth I am mourning.
maybe not wasted but passed,
buried along the love I once possessed.
footsteps echoing and I twice checked
the road before I ran away from her.
if I just looked behind,
I would have seen the 17-year-old me
mocking my running
but I just saw the 27-year-old me,
on the horizon she awaited,
her eyes were sparkling.
she was as calm as a new moon sea.
she had a pretty girl in her arm,
she was standing as if she had planted love
and she was the one collecting it.
the sight teared me up
the fight in me settled down.
half moon, the road is clear;
piano melodies in the car, she is near.
I am crying but she is now 37 and proud,
I mourn everything but she is out and loud
wishing I had the guts, but the horizon
is now disappearing yet I am not forgiven
still I know, she loves me and cries for me
breaks the loose ends patiently for me.
she awaits beside her, eyeing me lovingly
I avoid my gaze, because she is so sunny:
radiant as the sun, gleamy as the moon
could I be the warmth in that bag's maroon?