The wind is carrying about my thoughts,
Fallen leaves are rustling beneath the feet,
And the walks are full of longing, bitterness, and incertitude.
Everything in me is calling you, my love,
And you appear full of known tenderness.
It is hard to detach myself from this warmth,
And leave into that gloomy autumn
To that even gloomier hospital
In which my dear, little brother is confronting
Tumultuous puberty and that infamous illness.
At a certain time he waits for me impatiently,
For hours we play, talk, read, watch TV; I teach him many things,
Make him laugh while trying to hide my sorrow.
Restless is our mind when the Oncology clinic becomes part of us.
We begin to explore extraordinary fields,
Try to find miraculous remedies,
Start to conduct amazing conversations with superior powers...
And feel so terribly confused and helpless.
I'll wish this sarcoma was just a horrible dream,
And you, love (who are abroad on business), were my reality.
Jay D. Prodan
[ My Friend ]
( The International Library of Poetry ; USA ; 1999. )