THE LAST POEM

The sky is turning red and orange,

Time for the sun to set,

For the moon to rise,

The sea yawns, ready to sleep;

We sit on the beach,

My head leaning on your shoulder;

You read to me your last poem,

‘We will meet again!

I will write our love story again!’

Night creeps in,behold!

I cup your face in my hands,

Your lips are cold;

You turn into a handful of sand,

The last poem ends.

Anita Bacha

Illustrative/Photography/AnitaBacha

Processed with MOLDIV

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