a poem by Najem Eisa

I tend to go on a walk
to forget how to stalk
so I can listen to nature talk.
It tells me to take a rest
and I embrace it like a guest.
This feeling deep in my chest
searching for attention.
From him, me or you
losing touch in that hue
not green, not grey, not blue.
Surprisingly tender.
And I still wonder
between here and there
every footstep in despair
my legs need a chair
a way too long to bear
but I do care
about me.