Our love had gone. . .
We said goodbye that day
and your last words were:
"Think of me sometimes!"

"Think of me." But I did not.
I had experienced you like a film.
I forgot you, and being busy
went along all sorts of different roads.

Now I am getting old
and I feel lonely and unwanted.
The phone seldom rings now
and it is always a wrong number.

That girl with the marvellous hair
in the battle blouse and trousers
doesn't shout out any more "Post!"
as she passes by my house.

An inconsolable desire
takes hold of me. Confused.
I want to shout to the first person
I meet: "Think of me!"

I hope you arent't like me.
I hope you are looked at still
by eyes bright with love
just as mine used to be.

 

Alexander Gerov | library