How Still my heart is
what a symmetry in this cemetery lies
an embalmed beauty it seems
without an urge of art
like a tamed animal without a cart

I sat under a shadowy tree in front of an orphanage
kids might call me a Buddha
I don't know, was it my face or you my destiny's author
who told them the story of my incomplete education
they called me an illusion
If an illusion I am why an orphan seemed to me a star
bright while has a dark night in his way
bright while his pleasure twinkles
shines more when breaks and disappeared just for a day
since they are in thousands

I might forget an orphan I am too
lived in third world true 

April 12 2006