Wednesday, May 19, 2010


I was told by someone
Five times younger
But five times wiser
That the whole world was attached.

Country to country,
City to city,
My house to yours
And you to me.

Then what are we fighting for?
If, by default it is

Is the creator the problem then?
Or is it the Creator's creation?


So much to say.
So much to tell her
But she is not here.

She has been swept away.
Like a strong, but short wind
Passing by,
Not stopping to stay a while,
Even if I needed more breeze.

It's hot
And suffocating sometimes.
But I wait.

For the sound of wind
Rustling the leaves on the trees.
For the sight of
Clouds meeting up.
For the smell of the drizzle
Wetting the mud.

Because I know
She speaks to me a million times
In the million droplets of rain.