( An essay poem about two artists souls )

My beloved, my sweet...
i fed you with love,
i nourished you with my smiles,
my countless patience, my sunshine, my passion

i nurtured you with nature
what you can do to bloom
i whispered in your ears those precious words
added my own blood to your secrets,
our songs became completest absurdic symphonies

only you can make me
as i am today:
a happy creature with free pride
free….but with great responsebility

myriad of people,
with million milliards of interests,
most of them had been in distress
they came to you and they went again
when they came, everyone was stressed and hurt….

as soon as you treated them,
in dutch we say you possess green hands,
and when they left, they arrived at an entirely brand-new land
they had not one pain again
on their new grains of sand….

You came from afar behind the swift clouds,
i saw you, but i had my doubts
you wiped them all away
and made that i wanted to stay
like in a thousand and one nights….

and as a wonder i the rebel
won't go astray anymore at any level….

You made me your owner,
though so many travels together, i am still a loner
believe me my dear, this pure absurdity
believe me, this will last till eternity
A sunlit Molenwijk area where once good hearts lived,
in the midst of summerheat, one season long to forgive
curious odd people were staring at you
like you were a killed living art statue

it is loveliest to know
you are a living ordinary soul who creates,
a living everyday man who penetrates
sick people's mind
your treatments all are oft of a very loving kind
precisely on that place and in that precious time
many fans trust you and your work is over sublime

Molenwijk area is not as before,
a crowded place for online games now
an arcadia in nostalgic plays and updated games
discomfort and nostalgia are now the glowing flames.

somehow those sparkling flickerings make me true sad,
give me the eternal feelings of constantly rushing ahead

Where I reside now with you, my beloved, my sweet
is not to compare with Molenwijk's grandest defeat
each street here is a treasure of leisure
in each corner rests sweet smell of peace
in each home resides sweet smell of our own ease
peace in all hearts, and peace in our own....


© Sylvia Frances Chan -

My friend once told me that they were trash,
And I told them their thinking was rash,
Becuase one man's trash is another man's treasure,
And you will be mine for forever and ever.