The Forgotten

To translate moments into poetry, 

To convert memories into words, 

To describe the unforgettable of a life, 

A poet searches for grammatical waves, 

for verbs and adjectives, 

for the past perfect and the present progressive, 

for the precise word, 

for the correct sentence, 

for a beautiful poem.

To live a lifetime 

For the details that the heart expresses, 

For the feelings you create in each moment, 

You follow the deep looks, 

the uncontrolled beating because of the time, 

To the smells and the flavors, 

To the precise word, 

To the correct sentence, 

To the imperfect instant.

Then

You blink in a second, 

And the precise word, 

And the perfect phrase, 

The beautiful poem, 

and the imperfect instant, 

Are the previous page of a book, 

Are the memory of a yesterday 

without importance. 

For the poet, 

is his life, 

For who lives, 

is his life, 

The one that delivers everything, 

But ends up being 

A page from an old book, 

An acquaintance of a past time,  

consigned to oblivion,

a forgotten.

Aovon Nabetse.