So much of life has passed by you,
about a mile or so yonder.
So much of love has come and gone.
So much of hatred fell to their knees.
So much of nostalgia coos to you like a dove.
So much of grief thickens like midnight mist.
So much of you has passed life by.
It’s wrong what they say about the age,
About how it claws its way out.
You’ve taught, about how you can bury it.
I rest my pen, thoughts;
go for a walk,
Under the splintered sun easing off on the afternoon water.
Unhurried silence hangs from willow trees,
A crisp breeze accompanies me.
A voice murmurs within me:
I barely know you.
I still don’t know how many teaspoons of sugar you take in your tea.
I still don’t know when malice bade you the farewell.
I still don’t know the first rainbow that painted your path.
I still don’t know how many liters of blood you are made of.
I still don’t know when time drips quietly down your grey hair.
I have no clue about them.
But a beautiful heart adorns your soul – this I know.
