How a memory of a beloved one, can be so true that one may doubt that death really occurred.
How we hold dear, even the traces of yesterday, in things and places and hours... hopind to regain what is irreversibly lost.
And how, in front of the sea, I gaze at waves, as they look as people, being born, growing, then decaying with foam and falling, then disappearing.
Loosing my heed after your sight and smell
Around your locks rustles my eager breath,
The shades of our pleasures is my sweet hell,
Nay you do not seem encircled by death.
At times when you come across me I think
Of the foe in the passing tricky days,
You ignite my senses, and through my ink
You burst with life again in many ways.
As a seed you come, and I hold you dear
Into my rich soil with exceeding care
Every time that you may grow and stay near
Yet Oh, each time you leave my soil so bare.
I ponder, when before the raging sea,
The rising and falling waves I do see.
