In my diaries as always
Since Ana’s death
I’ll remember her on that
Day eleven in September
Twothousandandfour –
Tattooed into the face of
My heart and my soul.
On this year’s September
It’ll be
Onehundredsixtyeight
Months.
Imagine.
Her tear she shed for me
Flows within my own eyes
For her. Still.
Ana – how great a love?
How precious a friend?
Fellow writer and poet
Accepting me as a poet
Of love
In a sacred ceremony of
Our hearts close up
Vibes of love shaking our
Souls
At that important meeting
On January thirteenth
Twothousandandtwo –
Her spirit joined mine in
An embrace of poets
Artists –
The messengers of the
Gods –
In Mitrepoleos First Floor
Café des Arts.
I still feel Ana’s presence
When I write
When I dive into the
Great creative conscious
She partakes to shape
Mine.
ANA.ANA
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’18.