Between two lines of a poem,
there is a deep silence
(where you keep your ears close to it
for an octave, unheard).
Between two stanzas of the poem,
there is a deep void
(a creek that join within your hearts).
Between the said and the unsaid flows a green river of memoirs;
floating over it are faint petals, weakly surviving.
When time forces an arrow
to sweep away the reminiscence of events,
to stagnate them from spiraling backward,
In the wings of words, a free flight,
tracing back the footprints;
A boomerang in a parabola!