Meine Antwort: My answer...

He called an autumn,
with no spring waiting.
He called a poetic interlude,
which should end.
He named it a friendship,
which has withered...

He knows, like all wise men,
I am fumbling,
with endless questioning.
I called him secretive,
He would, alas, be secretive.

I am not supposed to reply,
I should let time fly by,
Gosh! and I give my sigh.

Oh I forget it should end quietly,
It’s his wish and I comply helplessly
It didn’t because I wrote something,
Tabula rasa, nihilism and nothing.

He said, I drew a line,
in the sands of time.
The line was he
Which was washed in the sea
With shock, disbelief and sarcasm
I tell thee
How could you be so wrong?
The line was drawn by you and not me?

I will tell you the only answer.
The answer which will demystify,
the mystified.
The answer will question,
The unquestioned.

It is an answer
with lot of questions,
full of sadness, pain and hopeless notions
The answer , my only friend
The answer, my soul mate,
The answer, my fate.
It is my Silence.