On mornings like this one,
with the birds silent...

I've lit it a thousand times
yet your candle still couldn't dance...

Sometimes I ensconce
myself on the palm of raw...

I sit on the edge of my bed as though it is I,
who was trespassing, rather than the...

When I was thirteen, I made a promise to
the western wind, that I'd come back to her...

You left me unmasked,
unguided and unprotected...

I suppose I've been dreaming again
of a possibility of another life...

I remember my first funeral:
everyone was either wearing black or white...

Weaving my way through littered alleyways
which separated the past and the future...

I limped back home tonight
after running away from you...

You used to tell me
my words were sweeter...

Perhaps this will be the only poem
I will ever unclothe with sadness...