My role was of an old script
So I stayed in the curtain fold
And watched the accolades
For those who had no role
The nights got too short
And the days too unexpected
Yet the stage carried all secret
Without interlude
And just when I was tired
Of my quiet role
And was ready to watch
Others find their voice
My role found its own stage
On an August day, near a sea so blue
Where fishermen found pieces of the skies
In their net
And on that August day
The skies lost a small piece of blue
As I brought it to my stage
In the shape of a simple poem
And I read it alone
May 28, 2018
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2018
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