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Window divides the emptiness of sky
in a crisscross pattern,
Outside, night is the darkness of a jasmine bowl,
Song of a forlorn wind vibrates
the stillness of the room.
Once crumpled bed is now smooth
as if our love making transcended
into the stillness of an orgasm

The path from our home to the temple
a thin strip of earth still bears our foot prints
from yesterday when we last went up
to see how morning sun slowly melts the mist
to reveal the earth textured with
somber rice farms in various shades of green.
Up on the hill we both smiled in joy
at the sparkling dewdrops on gossamer,
And the morning breeze carried our happiness
back to this room
where the mirror on the wall empty and clear
reflected the room
in which echoed my life and love.

My glass on the table
waits patiently with an empty chair in front
where only moments before I sat and wrote my last poem.

A candle and couple of fragrance sticks
burns in solitude at the base of an alter
placed at the corner of the room.
A thin smoke curls up gently
through a tiny luminous sphere
then vanishes in the hush of darkness
in which cocooned all our bliss
and memories of joyful laughter.

Nothing much has changed
Only the mirror on the wall empty and clear
Now reflects the room
In which echoes yearnings of my last life