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Wednesday, September 11th, 2013 10:37 pm
I thought about grandmother's house
and grandfather's house
The old creaky stairs
that is too high to climb when I was small
and close by, an old buddhist temple
with the rotted water
and offerings left on the altar

The old table and the monk clothes
and the Buddhist items
I thought about the old rooms
on the second floor
and the drawers full of comic books
and the room where the two boys
of my cousins slept and lived
I thought about the dusty boxes
and the market place in the back
and the old kitchen

Humble beginnings, humble ends
The story of life begins in this house
I haven't been here for long
but if my brother haven't been born

This house and business
could have been mine.

And I wouldn't have to suffer
living here on my own
with no hope of love and life

No father to guide me
And a brother who is disabled
I asked myself
Why God why?

You couldn't see the bleeding wounds
of my own stigmata
that I carry everyday

And I kept thinking to myself
"I am the only one."

There's nothing for me,
except this desert
and me speaking and singing
to the Soul of the World.

In sleep, I found my solace
in my desolace and my life