Poem
A little sparkle, a shiny spectacle Innocence was her virtue, her desire We call this our soul Holding her sterility Sometimes though earth shatters The land shifts subtly under the ground Knee crumbles onto a fetal position The stomach bounces in sense of doom Yet the little sparkle, delightful in
English
Off they went to a land Nurtured by their love and struggle. They survived there till age 84 Yet it always seems like they are 48 Someday one of them left the grounds of heaven To another heaven, not as wonderful. The other one departed soon, but my memory is
English
Here’s to reaching out to an end of me, Stranded by multitudes of blockades. The rift came along, and I survived, Not by my own self, but supported by their deft hands. What’s unseen, though, are the silent touches of friends. They saw me, even when I was
English
Two souls walked in tandem, Unmistakably synchronized. The roads crumbled into a playground. The walk through elation To critical observers, They felt it suggested a mystical chemistry. The hoping, the playfulness, the exhilaration of intimacy, Manifested a giant spectacle. We drew up a conversation. Outwardly expansive and soulful. The conversation