Miracle

Nineteen years, three hundred and forty nine days,

Gone like the early gush of wind beneath my ear,

Nineteen winters, nineteen summers,

And nineteen months of rain later,

The nineteenth autumn is about to come. 

And the road is still full of dry leaves,

It makes a sound when I step on it.

Birds are chirping away, The sky is a sad blue,

Beyond the mountains I see a door,

A door that calls my name,

I am still walking on the stones,

The breeze is flowing through my hair.

And the door still does not open.

This is the pain worth nineteen autumns

And nineteen winters and nineteen summers.

And nineteen months of rain later

One voice is just what I want  to hear.

Soothing and meaningful,

But maybe there are nineteen more winters,

And nineteen more summers,

And nineteen more  months of rain..

P.S: To be continued (When the door opens and the miracle happens)