I want for you to
Inherit a little of my smile
The color of my skin
The rest you find your own
...
The lingering warmth
On the tips of my fingers
Where yours had stayed
I now feel its aftertaste
...
The Morning Mist Of Langol
I want for you to
Inherit a little of my smile
The color of my skin
The rest you find your own
Sift through centuries past
Of eye color and hair texture
Choose your pick
I want you to inherit
The books of my childhood
Scattered poems of yesteryears
Of my time, of my life
Those lines I wrote to myself,
Those unfinished stories
Because life, in default, remains unfinished
Until you are no more.
I want you to inherit
My humour, my curiosity
Not my failed loves, not my notoriety
Nor my obscurity of later years.
I want you inherit the hills
The rain, the evening sky,
The morning mist of Langol,
The morning mist of Langol.