Ghost Letters

So mystic, sympathetic are the colors
Of the horizon
May it wash these maiden hearts
Moving out from this motherly soil

The writhings I cannot control
The riots of the mind, and
The body of the soul

Letters of the tomb
Throb in the cavity beneath my ribs
The longing flow and ebb on my shores
This sentimental sofa is flowering
Home-showering my man-womb

But it doesn’t roseate
And the house don’t reanimate the dead

Sometimes there are no piercing words
Such as the unspoken ones
They find ways to seep, between the crevices
Softly, through your pores and
Sleep on your breastbones

Though an effigy is burnt
Another one is born
Still, I shall kiss the hands that
Served me milk

I shall taste the ache
Take a sip and celebrate
Let the broken becomes beauty

Before our gone, and end.