Come –
see real blossoms
of this painful world
by Basho
I miss the days when suicide was not a normal word. Those days when we daydreamed about the places we would travel, the smiles we would laugh, the freedom we’d reclaim, the success, and joy. Do you remember that sunny day when we drove to the Texan Hill Country? The bluebonnets and wildflower blossoms? What was the colour of the sky?
Under a tree
a hurtful word fades out —
cherry petals colour the sky
_____Adriana Citlali
XXVIII-III-MMXVI