[ poem  ]

Her voice resonates in the darkness
of early Autumn, and the breeze that
upholds the very imprint of her self;
It tells me how she would look.

One of many ways to know her would be
to hum along with her melodies, and
craft her silhouettes from the echoes-
a solemn expression of love.

Yes, I have known her like such-
ever since the beginning of knowing myself.
In every moment of joy and despair,
in all seasons, always.

“Is there a way of ‘not’ knowing her?”
you may ask.

how to un-know the ‘self’ ??