Thursday, July 12, 2012

The morning mist of Langol

I want for you to
 Inherit a little of my smile
The color of my skin
The rest you find your own
 Sift through centuries past
 Of eye color and hair texture
 Choose your pick
I want you to inherit
 The books of my childhood
 Scattered poems of yesteryears
 Of my time, of my life
Those lines I wrote to myself,
 Those unfinished stories
 Because life, in default, remains unfinished
Until you are no more.
I want you to inherit
My humour, my curiosity
Not my failed loves, not my notoriety
 Nor my obscurity of later years.
 I want you inherit the hills
The rain, the evening sky,
The morning mist of Langol,
The morning mist of Langol.

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