I have always felt compassion and empathy for the kids I see at school walking alone, eating alone, for the ones that sit in the back of the room while everyone bullies them. I did not take the time to really think about the extent of their pain. Then, one day I thought, what if I did take a moment out of my time to simply say hello to someone without a friend or stop and chat with someone sitting by herself? And I did. It felt good to brighten up someone else’s day, someone else’s life. How did I know I did? Because I remembered the day a simple kind hello changed my life forever.

Maybe instead of planes
we could exist in a world
with submarines in the sky.
Maybe black could be white,
maybe everything could be topsy turvy,
maybe we’d fall in love.

In a white book, writing was done with tears,
And so we cannot figure out a single line;
Memorized and though about since early youth,
It eludes one’s wit even as one has aged and greyed.

When mind seeks it out, love turns up in the heart,
When heart pursues it, love is in the mind, escaping wit.
Regarded at close range, love dissipates,
Leave it aside and love turns sad and grieves.

When loving is intense, love resists the long wait,
Like a lightning bolt, it streaks across the dark.
The kiss that sears is a kiss given only once,
And when the river swell, only once will flooding rise.

Love that is timid is a river still and currentless,
No falls nor torrents, no tears nor unbearable loss!
But when love has dared, the heart is swept away,
Honor, wealth and wisdom, love will drown them out!

When love is yet a bud, it heeds an elder’s counsel,
Such is not yet love, for it still sees the light.
But when it bursts aflame, what matter the universe —
That’s real love, so lose yourself in it with all your heart.

When you balk at the threat of ill fortune and hazard,
Truly your wit is lit and your mind at dull alert;
Your love is cautious yet, you have not
learned to really love,
For once in love, the grave itself is heaven’s gate.

Love has eyes, love is never blind,
having learned to love, one’s wounds turn into blossoms,
Love is selfish and cannot bear to share,
It’s either you get it all, or get nothing at all.

“Mother has been watching me, so I cannot write..”
Friend, that’s a sign you have yet to win her love.
But when she dares write even at her very grave site,
She has come to love you more than her very life.

All you, young people. who are in quest of love,
Moths who are fluttering around the lamplight,
Once in the grip of love, danger you will seek out,
Ready to love your wings to the very flames of love.

At night I pretend
my pillow is your chest, it
helps me fall asleep.

Not here, in voice
or sight — not present.
Away, distant
your words are foreign.

Apart from this,
the time we’ve spent
facing opposite directions —
you’re still here.

In my eyes, when I wake up
and when I sleep,
the taste in my mouth
and the music in my ears,
the sun on my face
and the breeze I walk through.

You’re in my movements
and my thoughts, my strongest emotions.
You are satisfaction and longing.
You are what I love,
and what I can’t have.