In my self deception
I had refused to see
That which I hate in you
Is what I can't stand in me

When the yellow day coppers to dusk
I paint my weary eyes dreams.

They nudely wade the crabhole muds
for marks of the great marksman
climb up the chunks going into tides
tiptoe through the needle roots
sniff a wind that smells of stripes
thrilled
death if comes
would be a momentary stir
a dangling cloth
resting on the trail of blood, marking,
someone ventured.

My hands are in love.
They touching your smile.
My eyes are in love.
They kissing your face.
My lips are in love .
They drinking your curves.
Am I ready to live?
Am I ready to kiss?
Am I ready to love?
I can see .
I can kiss.
I can touch.
Can I love ?
YOU?

When light shines upon my body in a warm day

I close my eyes and let the wind sway

Guided by the gentle breeze following the sound of flowers and leaves.

When I go out of my shade, my worries and fears begin to fade

Above the sun’s nurture I co-exist in peace

As I realise this feeling will cease, I await for another moment in summer to repeat.