Speaking as though we have already met,
Realising that every time that our eyes meet,
In the puddles where our tears and the skies’
Collide with the earth,
You blink and I wince with your pain,
Because your eyes – are mine,
And you keep painting these word across my page,
As if your thoughts are mine.
We weave these words,
Into the tapestry of life,
As though this is art,
Not knowing that the age old pheran,
My father holds at home,
Handed down 10 generations – at least,
Carries the same name,
That you and I ache to utter,
The one that ties you to I.
We touch hearts with our pages,
Encrypted in tears and ink,
Painting the same strokes of blood,
That today unwillingly caress our soil,
Smashing to pieces hearts, no longer fragile,
Though they tremble – like you and I.
Your eyes meet mine from across the globe,
Every time that these words arise,
Tugging at the thread that ties you to I.
We burn in the same fire of love and loss,
Always having lived where nothing resides.
And we build bridges of hope between worlds,
Engulfed by smoke and storms,
Where there is nothing that brings peace – like the rain,
As it soothes souls in our piece of heaven.
And we walk on, overlooking it all – converging,
Where only you and I could meet.
Like the valleys of the motherland,
We will rise, but only if we are together.
So meet me between the words and syllables,
Lining this page – You know I await your presence,
In the calm that resonates within the storm.
Because in the second before the wave reaches the shore,
Our thoughts collide and our souls will meet once more.