You tell me that I have become silent,
what can I say in the presence of dismay?

Mountains on my chest keep us apart
and valleys I fell into—how can you hear me?

I was submerged in a sea of tears,
I stretched out my hand, but yours eluded me.

I withstood and weathered so you wouldn’t be sad—
I don't like to see sorrow in your eyes.

And when I yearned for a sun to dry that flood,
you withheld your warm sunshine.

You were my childhood; I would grow old if you left me.
Today, with every encounter, I age.