Like a iron hammer striking a metal gong
The spoon clashes against the plate
Playing crude, loud, lonely songs
Of love, heartbreak and fate.
The old chair creaks under my touch, the one that we picked out together
The one you always wanted to get rid of for a newer design
You see I held on to it,
For my hope unlike yours, does not resign.
The pale white plates with light blue flowers clatter as I put them on the table,
The state of which, is also no longer stable.
This creaking, clatter and clashes, make noises make a symphony
Helping me fill this silence melancholy.
Even though my heart can’t stand this separation,
This melody, makes up for our missing dinner table conversation.