I cannot neglect the buried roses underground,
The ones that I dance with in spirit form,
Those who relish in the muddy waters,
The autumn yellow leaves crunch under my feet,
As I make way for the winter to cover you in ice,
Or rather the cold makes me remember you,
How can I omit you from my memory,
You were the blossoming cherry tree through the winter,
Displayed colour, and hope through the inhospitable cold,
The skin that lacked in colour, you gave warmth to
The weeping willow tree, that blew with me,
Kept all my tears, to make an ocean,
Which in itself washed away the darkness,
The water you blew on,
Your mouth a container for prayers,
You prayed the death out of me,
You were the Mangoes in Summer,
Sweet but bitter,
How you would sweeten the stings,
Yet never allow me to simmer in it for too long,
I am now the Lady I am due to this fire,
You were the coconut in Autumn,
The husky shell ensuring I did not fall off track,
Tough, hard, malleable in its flesh,
Whilst still keeping my heart like cream,
Your memories hunt my skin,
They throw daggers into my eyes,
My ducts bleed unexpectedly,
They will never stop for you,
The need for you will always be inexplicable,
Poetry my pathetic offering,
Will you ever see me again, Ama?
The wings of my spirit are deceiving me,
I am neither here nor there,
Noone will understand,
Not even myself,
This grief is like no other.