THAT WHICH GOES UNSAID...

I am the nest of a migrant bird... The peace of a wandering soul And the wheels of a caravan life. You are like a flower blooming In a pot watered by a leaking roof Unattended and wild.

Can there be something as temporary and as final as death? Life replaces life, Incidences replaces Memories... But what remains true under these dusts.. That what has gone shall never be. I will put your crumbling Self that remains with me In bottles and put some fireflies... When the finality of your absence Comes home on a spring morning as this. I will look at the bottles and know That the fireflies glow only by night..