At the start of the string,
Adjectives strung like a cluster of beads
Shone like the proudest diamonds
Encrusted in the glittering dialect
Of soft-eyed, soft-hearted angels
The string drooped
With the immense weight of love
The string could barely support
Such unprecedented attachment
Of a deep, rich surroundings.
At the midpoint of the string,
Adjectives strung like sparse bits of gold
Sentences shorten
Intensity relaxes
Less and less modifiers
The ground is ever so near
The sweet perfume of the air is dear
Fewer rose and more sunflowers
The sky has no mystery—not any more
Not any more.....
At the end of the string,
Adjectives strung like distant stars
The force of reality has splintered all
Romanticism
Away.....
A phantom of echoing memories
Cuddles the old man
Bereft of the sweet angels
That spoke glittering dialect.
- Naychi
late 2018
Yangon, birth of little cousin
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