Play me a song on your guitar,
And let not the words fall from your lips.
Hear my words, and ask, my dear,
Carefully let them endure.
For these autumn leaves fall from these oak trees,
Knowing no boundaries of certainty.
You’re the liar,
You’re the king of whispered things.
Play me a song on your guitar,
Lay me down under that old oak tree.
Hold me as if I’m fragile
Tracy Pillay is a writer from Durban, South Africa. Her full-length collection I HEAR YOU (36 poems & prose poems), is currently under review. Her work explores stillness, chaos, love, and the courage to keep going.