Miracles

Gardening

Giving

Arranging flowers

For a sapling

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From your Valentine

The rose is red, the violet's blue,

The honey's sweet, and so are you.

Thou art my love and I am thine;

I drew thee to my Valentine:

The lot was cast and then I drew,

And Fortune said it shou'd be you.

Mehndi

Every time I put henna on my hands I hum that song

Where I write your name on the palm of my hand,
Hidden in the intricate shapes, curves and designs
The story of the day we met or the day we spoke.

We have walked countless times around the fire

We have uttered so many different sacred chants
Of holding a bond so close just by keeping it safe
Deeply tied to the sense of our sacred silences.

We have celebrated in rhymes, absences felt,

The emotions that run wild and the colours
We have sang of the endless days we wandered
Listlessly, aimlessly and perfectly in silence.

Yet when I put mehndi on these hands of mine,

You smell them, as if it’s our first time together.

Diary of a female quixote

Dear Sean,

The summer we had together is the most perfect part of my life history. I cannot recall anyday or any hour with more clarity though with the passing years I have lost control over my memory. Yet, the days with you stand out clearly etched against the monotony of this latter life and I remember how you were like magic to me. Your ways with words and your gentleness were additions to this quiet magic of sweeping off my feet time and again.

Yours truly
Berry

The Unsent Letters