(23 October 1985-? / Tirana, Albania)

A Man Of Forty

A man of forty. Forty years the child.
His eyes don't see me but his mother.
His past. And like a child he wanders
Clean through the tunnels of his time.
And lost logic, and found regret.
His history plays inside his eyes,
and his fingers play with his pain,
He doesn't play with logic. Logic
Can't be found in this child's fate.
And like a mother I care for him.
But I don't know him- He seems to know me
And cannot smile. His eyes only drift
From my lips, to his mother's hair;
And without a word, he reveals his wrists.
His manly wrists with tiny spots of pain.
If I could I would kiss his wrists.
If I had half the courage to face his pain.

User Rating: 4,3 / 5 ( 6 votes ) 5

Comments (5)

Hi! I’m Eddie Roa and I just got in to this website. By chance I came across your name in the list of poets and read some of your works. I have posted some of my poems today and yesterday. My style ranges from light to dark poetry (modern enough but not postmodern) and some Japanese verse forms like haiku, senryu and tanka. I hope you will bother to check out my work. Thanks and happy writing.
Masiela, seeing the title and being exactly forty myself, I had no choice but to read. A stirring mixture of vulnerability and empathy... really quite moving. Well done! ! Brian
I would not change a thing about this poem. It is a splendid reminder that everyone is someone's baby, even shattered men in their forties or older wish for their mothers to ease their pain. And if their pain is severe enough, they will in their dementia see their mothers in the kindness of others.
nice done u r so great writer
masiela this poem is a beautiful work of art. i love to reread it.