Out of all things I consider
love is the hardest to attain,
Some gain it after climbing mountains of hell
Others sit down watching them, hoping they fell
And yet, here I am under the rain
The rain, so comforting
Yet so cold, as cold as lifes hellfire brought upon me
For the curse of love,
The only curse people find comfort in
And yet they dont see the illusion they put themselves in
When they see the one they loved most vanish, in the blink of an eye
Though they know they will suffer, they try
Trying to do anything for their Love not to cry
As I look out the window,
Her soul distancing day by day
“He” next to me whispers in my ear
“I’ll make sure both of you will be near”
I cry to myself
Knowing I was affected by the tragedy of love.
Ποίημα του Εμόν Χοσσαΐν
