By Wikim Ajang
The 25th day came too soon,
the thirty-second was here too soon,
for I feel like a child still—
although my eyes spy something white
here and there along the line.
I have fears,
not of the dark anymore,
but that I learned nothing
from falls and slips.
Everything's the same:
the sun, moon and the stars in my heart—
and yet it disagrees:
my heart and her unripened dreams.