I called it a year,
at your prodding.
Yet here I stand again
empty handed
as the calendar turns.
If only I could believe
in fresh beginning
to a stale life.
If only
my hands were really empty
free from the burden
of moments I let go
mornings I never kissed
and nights that were
but a refuge.
If only
the world could really be new.
Free from the ghosts of past
that haunt the living,
And curse the dead.
Hope that puts
cold stomachs to sleep
Blesses warm hearts
with regrets.
Between life's trysts
And a fleeting destiny
I look for the new
But cannot see
My hope, and my fear
Are both the same
That's seasons change
To come back again.
Saba
