Les Fleurs du Bonheur

And the poet asked “Who will buy the garden’s sweet shivers? Who will buy the blissful mirth on dawn’s smiling lips?”
I listened to how my mother sang these lines, and for a moment I saw the young girl she was. She was too young to be a mother. Forever. But she was already one. Too late. How do one pay for someone’s lost days?

Triste Infiniment

 

You and I, we’re infinite;

Hence it is fated that we’d never meet.

Parallel in universes 

Parted by mindsets,

United by tristesse infinie. 

©

T/N : Triste Infiniment : Infinitely Sad ; Tristesse infinie: Infinite sadness / melancholy