Wait

My wait has ended; so have I.

The season of spring was very short,

short and sweet. Before bidding adieu, it left inexhaustible joy for my poor heart.

That's how I know my wait has ended; so have I.

The autumn that has surrounded is, perhaps, long and everlasting.

Leaves of hope in this harsh season are incapable to grow.

Rays of optimism during this dark season are unable to pierce the dense clouds of sorrow,

stamping on the fact that my wait has ended; so have I.

Strength-saturated vitals don't wish to move.

The darkness in the eyes is darker than the darkest clouds.

The most cherished, the most dearest desire has started to flee,

stealing and robbing all the heart's glee.

The most pious, the most venerable prayer has begun to fail,

killing and crumbling the soul's faith in the goodness of humanity,

signaling that my wait has ended; so have I.

Wait a minute;

can wait really end and halt?

Can the soul rest in peace if life made it bitterly howl?

At times it's no one's fault, since life leaves you on perilous crossroads

where loneliness and solitude are your only companions,

where silence is the only sound for which the soul yearns.

Now, on that crossroad, it doesn't make much difference,

since there seem to be no roundabouts.

You may be on the right side,

or you might be on the left side.

you will be the saddest here or there, and the saddest anywhere or everywhere.

You will be lost and lonely here or there, and lost and lonely anywhere or everywhere.

Because the leaves that were chosen to fall in autumn will never be picked up in spring,

and will never again turn green.