Wednesday, December 2, 2009


Walking away
like a nomad,
from closed doors
to glassed windows,
she wears a body
against the cold,
with all her names lost,
as she gets a shelter
built of
rain and snow.

let her grow
as an oleander.
what if the
ornaments are lost?
from a distance
she shall watch
the angels
turn to gold.

let the rose remain
rooted in locks.
As the seasons
pass away,
people will remember
the dead petals
and tears will
be shed.
may be.

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