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Poem

He asked me, “ Why are you afraid? 
Please tell me.”
I looked at him. 
Looking closely is also an art, skillful.
I am never good at that. 
I never was. 
But I always felt that I must.

Sisters have bonded lives. 
We had the same bonding, same heartache.
And I felt that looking closely is a bias when 
We are prejudiced, tilted in one way or the other.
Growing up is a pain that rules many hide-outs. 
But I always kept my faith. I was raised to keep my faith.

You are not a cause. 
You are not a consequence.  
But you are an utter truth
Living and ticking on, 
you are a loud noise, the loudest of all, 
which brings only a simile, just like the action of a rumor

Are you blind in your own black? 
Are you a denial of my perforated, wounded, empty life?

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