Attachment,
A magnetic force,
Snatching away our serenity,
Pulling people closer,
Making a big ball of tranquility,
Of electrically charged group
Of amiable beings.
Amiable,
A quality barely seen,
In a person,
Who doesn't feign,
To be good,
And if you are,
Then you are rare,
A ruby found,
In a millionth moon,
A sweet sound,
In a noisy room,
You are the beauty
That can't be discovered much,
But if found,
You are so delicate,
And if touched,
You won't break but bloom,
Like a touch-me-not.
Break,
Something difficult for you to do,
Except for,
Breaking through,
The chains of difficulties,
Breaking chains,
Soon to become free,
But still we'll be together,
Because we are the branches of the same old tree.
Tree,*
Of friendship,
Gets cut,
When it does, it pains,
But the pain soon shuts,
Our breaking hearts,
From aching in vain,
Because we know,
That some day,
Like an unexpected shower of snow,
We'll meet again, as we say,
We'll meet again,
When we finally grow.
I wrote this poem for someone who is leaving.