Triptych

1.

I wish I have a voice like a song bird
singing all day long,
from the tree top or low branches,
where I live, where roses open
their petals like soft sighs and shine
in rich accents of colour.

2.

Breaking fragile little clusters
of seashells that collapse and crush
become colourless grains,
murky, burrowed deep inside,
they articulate the language
of season in silence.

3.

Your shadow closes around my throat
your eyes are now raw amethyst
bloom in silent whispers,
the cloud diffuses into hope
from frail memories,
I watch you leave from me.