It’s not until now that

It’s not until now that I finally realise that I miss you more than I can say In your favourite city, Where you still inhabit my dreams Where I can see you In every wicked corner Of every wicked street.   @mena.poetry Foto: Anónima

There’s just something

There’s just something inherently Poetic about cigarettes and autumn And the way the ashes seem to fall Like the agèd leaves from the trees, That makes one feel lonelier still and Yet, so undisturbed.   @mena.poetry Foto: Ídem

I would someday like to meet

I would someday like to meet Someone brave enough to Sail the high seas of my tears Most of the time I’m in my world Trying to fight an ice age that Sticks stalactites to the walls Of my lungs, of my heart, They say nobody can melt This ice queen but I need your... Leer más →

Las cicatrices que deja el amor

Las cicatrices que deja el amor No son más que suspiros, y, Entre sonrisas mal dibujadas, Narraré la historia de una niña Que llegó tarde a sus sentimientos, Que pasó a opinar que el amor A veces se pasa de fecha. Cuando sea una mujer verá Que en realidad, en el amor, No existen los... Leer más →

I come to a traffic light 

I come to a traffic light That blinks. It blinks ferociously at me, it asks the eternal question: Will you or won’t you? Do I cross with the blinking light? I ask myself that too. Will I take a chance With that amber light Blinking? Should I- take a chance- When I know I could... Leer más →

Philanthropy 

The word alone Hast lost its meaning, To the young, ingrate Kings and queens of Low Hollywood dives, Who prefer the shiny gold Of a social medal or A man in need of polishing, To the idea of saving lives. @mena.poetry Foto: @mena.poetry

The fear of letting go

The fear of letting go Deceives my aching body Into holding onto grief. The fear of letting go Bewitches the woman Who stood by you When nobody else would. The fear of letting go Is a fickle creature, But I’ve learnt that letting go Does not mean betraying you, And that there’s nothing this Northern... Leer más →

His wrath ripped through

His wrath ripped through This mortal Earth’s crust, When he heard it, now He could no longer trust These hopeful people, This new civilisation, How could he support The deceitful nation, Who named him after The smallest planet? @mena.poetry Foto: Ídem

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