There's this secret box under my bed...
It's for you...yes...for you
When you enter my room...
Please don't draw the curtains
The place holds my darkness and secrets...
It doesn't need the touch of light...
But the flame of the candle will support you...
Take the box and open it
You will find some stuff holding memories
of us from centuries...
Ignore them for a while
Take a look at that bundle of old yellow pages...
These are the poems I couldn't dare to complete
Do me a favor...complete them for me...please
I left spaces for your part
Write about yourself...
Write about us...
The typewriter is still on the table...
These pages do hold my soul and tears...
Do treasure it...it's the last of us
As for the secret box, take it or burn it
When you leave my place...with the poems, with our moments breathing alive in them...
Head towards that park with pink bougainvilleas...
which must be brown now...
Sit on that wooden bench under the banyan tree
And read all those poems containing us...
You will find me alive in those verses...
Give those pages your soul and tears too...
At least we'll be together there
Do not forget taking the last stroll in that park
Because...I have left the town forever.