Kites fly
when the wind carrying your words
Touches them,
And with them they take the dreams
that align
the stars in your eyes.


Whenever you speak of the things,
you wish to do

You taught me how to grow.
Your battles are carved into my blood vessels,
And I will carry them with me,

As reminders of patience and faith.

Like milk, your soul
pours into the hearts around you,
and your memory leaves remnants
of honey on their tongues.  

Yet you do not know.

In endearing silence,
Exists the stillness of black and white,
The painter holds the palette against their chest,
And their heartbeat colours in the pigments,
As their brush strokes the canvas,
Droplets of light begin to surround you,
Like floating fireflies, or stars on earth,
And in your eyes, colour blooms,
You sit, framed, in black and white,
But the smile you wear when you stare at wonder,
Brings your colours back to life,
The painter captures a portrait,
Made from the paper of destiny,
A picture of you finding yourself,
As the silence waves goodbye,
Leaving behind echoes of your hopeful laugh.

Your words rival the rain that washes the dust of yesterday off the streets,
They pull flocks of birds towards your speech,
And like maps of the largest cities
I dwell on them for days hoping to uncover every corner,
Even the petals of blooming flowers
Fly away prematurely to follow the words that rest on your tongue,
Because when you speak you pierce the atmosphere
With paper planes folded by your wisdom.
Your words are pungent, like mosaics of foreign colour,
They rest upon the palette of a dreamy painter,
Wistful in colour, even when you haven’t spoken at all.

Your sadness is a beautiful thing
It follows you with the glow of a million fireflies
Compelling the wind to abandon the trees
To carry my hands toward your own
And it pulls the sea away from its shore
To follow the ray of light
That seeps through your wounds

Your heart rests in the palm of your father's sacrifice.
Your breath rests in the nostalgic wind that passes by him
When he remembers his past and reflects on your future.
Your colours run down the lines of your mother's smile,
Whenever she raises her hands to the sky,
Praying for you and a little more time,
Because she left her beating heart back home,
To become foreign and unknown only so you could grow.

Their complexions are painted with fatigue,
Because when you're sound asleep,
they run toward bordered walls,
so that when you wake up in the morning,
There will be open doors at your feet.

When a nostalgic wind passes by them,
They'll tell you stories of their childhood,
And they'll leave each word,
With a taste of reminiscence,
A hint of stolen years reflected in the teardrops,
That rest in the corner of their eyes,
And yet when they look towards you,
In seconds your reflection overshadows everything they once used to dream.

All for you...