I stood there
under the tamarind tree
listening to the rain
and the hooting of owls
and realized she was
looking at me
with folded arms
while she leaned on the tombstone.
I wanted to go to her
but somehow my feet were wet
and wedged in the veined roots
of the tamarind tree.
But I did not take my eyes
away from her
thinking how cold
she was in the rain.
Then I heard the owl
hooting louder than before
beckoning me to rescue her.
She did not move
a blade of her trestles
as I approached her
with my black overall
ready to make her warm
as the moonlight
chased the shadows
in the graveyard.
I reached the cross
she was leaning on
but she was no longer there
only her laughter
filled the air
leaving me to wonder
who was she.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem