From the lullabies of timeless spinning
of fibres from each one of dresses they wore.
I am guilty of stealing from the one
the colours to mine came from.
There I have lost some belongings of mine.
All your prayers are my crying.
And in whirlpools of the words,
To find the kind things you say
I keep prying.
What a kind thing to say-
“I am from you
and you from what all is mine.”
(The Stories beneath the eyes)