There’s a home of sorts,
In the midst of a meadow…

Hold on, don’t cry baby
You might be weak…

A year, and what a year,-
For many, difficult to bear…

I like the checks.
The black ones are deep…

My Mother, my friend so dear,
Throughout my life you’re always near…

To drop the brush and not try painting
blues skies in certain darkness…

Am I an odd caricature
On the thin walls of existence…

When you are on the four roads of life, all alone…

I wonder if you still think about me,

All the cries and laughs we shared…

I sat under a tree one morning,
Counting fruits, I thought would be…

Yesternight, I walked down your street,
I knew, we weren’t meeting again…

Now that we are old,
we can hold hands in comfort…

I often feel that nights are the end!
end to the everyday turmoil…

Absence is not only from lack of presence…

Will you be coming for our birthdays…