When life strikes
like a thunderball landing on the ground...

I can hear the birds sing
see the trees moving...

Dozens of brushes stashed in jars
their bristles almost hard...

There are times
I feel like I am near the end of my road...

It is so easy to get lost in a jungle.
Fallen trees, debris amongst many other weeds will...

I have mastered in showing patience
slowly filling in the blanks...

I returned home to motherland
where I first learned how to walk...

That sense of discomfort
unspoken words I burried them...

We are from different backgrounds
located all over the world...

I am walking along the beach
cold foam is hitting my feet...

Being born in the 50's
not long after the war...

I have broken free
from this emotional prison...