There is a pain aimless in the air tonight
and it finds me
as I am thinking of you
I tighten my robe a bit
thinking this way I shall be closer
to what I suffer
closer still to all that shame
that once gathered arms against me
then I hum to myself the odd song
of the beggar maid to the storm
knowing that something terribly old and ancient
has been passed on to us by way of this air
we breathe
and it is not saying anything
Lia Lopez-Chua
A haiku from César Ruiz-Aquino
She can make day black,
Night blacker. But her color
Of colors is pink
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