Before the crows sit
on the scarecrow,
I'll have you in remembrance
the path we used to walk.
I feel as if you are in my
aunt's house, being a symbol
illuminating the house.
When I sit alone, the absence
speaks you are alive, but I
had seen the grave.
I cry my heart out on
the bed, will you ever come back?
If your spirit dwells in our genes,
can you still embrace me in your arms?
Oh, my maternal grandma, I miss
your presence, like the old days,
even if I feel you are here.

When the earth celebrates
        a solar year,
The cost of life whispers
        in my ear.
It rose up, the easy act
        won't backup.
The easiness of faceless
        is being asked,
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's easy for people to leave.
It's easy to be devalued.
It's easy for mind to linger past.
It's easy to reminisce moments,
Cherished memories— yet to be
         closed as a chapter.
It's paradoxical—they face the same.
"What is it the result?" I ask.
It's paradoxical—they feel the same.

Baseless turmoil I have carried
       for you was faithless.
Aged me fine in my youth
       groundless.
No longer I was more sure
      about the lore.
No doubt it was offshore,
     I have to build my own floor.

I sat before the screen, at the same time.
Your messages, I do not see.
I start to look for the old rhyme,
All this time, I was the blind.
Of July, when the country was a battlefield,
If I were dead, you wouldn't have cared.
Why? We were unaware of each other.
What has changed? Nothing, dear.

I question with wrath -
My friend, where's my fiend?
"Buried alive" he said walking by the path.
Rushed I pulled by the collar,
"Where's my fiend?!" I was ready with a roller.
"Why do you care?" he asked with no fear.
She was there when none stayed, she's my dear.
"A literal murderer, your dear?" he laughed.
"Answer my friend, where's my fiend?" I glared.

When the night comes with the moon,
And you shiver by the sound of a loon,
Hold and squeeze me tight,
Let me comfort with divine's light.

When the candles extinguish,
And death arrives to languish,
Let me bear it, if my soul be pure,
And let divinity grant your death's cure.