Today on a lonely bus ride
I saw a nursery.
It showed me the bougainvillea;
the color of my childhood.
It showed me the color of the earth;
the smell of my childhood.
And I’m reminded of cricket’s and bird’s songs.
Those which I sang myself to childish sleeps,
which I carry with me in my innocent dreams.
I saw a little girl in my memory.
Laughing, her ponytail shaking with it.
Her pink little dress wrinkled but pretty.
She made me smile.
“Baby, why are you smiling?”you asked, nibbling my ears.
“Nothing,” felt silent in front of the little girl’s shattered innocence