From the womb of fire and suffering we are reborn, and emerge from triple darkness purified by pain.


My undying love for you
Has never changed;
Let the heavens welcome us
At the end of our days,
And may the worlds forever
Know our names;
Let tales of our legendary love
Be whispered in intimate settings,
And romantic cafes;
The essence of our commitment,
And dedication
Will be reenacted in plays;
You are the blood
That run through my veins;
On that day when all tears
Are wiped away,
I shall again hold your hand
And say:
Your are my light;
Beside me you stand
Adorned in white;
You are beautiful beyond
A thousand lush green valleys
At the dawning of the sun;
The kindness of your eyes
With no justice my words
Could describe;
The length and fullness of your hair
Are like a thousand endless waterfalls
Sprinkled with gold dust,
Glistening in the summer sun;
Your skin is a marvelous wonder,
Delicate and precious
Shimmering under a full moon
In the soft caress of the twilight;
Your lips are as soft and beautiful
As burgundy rose petals
In the freshness of the morning dew;
Your nose is like a perfect sculpture,
Crafted with the precision
Of the maker’s skilled hands;
Your earrings compliment
The silhouette of your neck;
Bracelets adorn your wrists,
Highlighting Your loving
And graceful hands.
You are my day,
And you are my night.
I love you … I love you …
Life could never destroy us,
And death could never separate us;
You are the wind that carries me
In endless dreams;
You are my rest …
And peaceful stream.
You are ingrained in me;
With tears in my eyes
And on one knee,
I affirm to all who hear or see,
That you forever
Are my lady.
Cold darkness.
Now you rest.
Eternally marked
Are the places they slept.
The hot summers
And cold winters
They endured,
But were forgotten
In death.
May roses grow
In the places they wept;
Weathered bodies,
Weary minds,
And heavy breaths.
You are memorialized.
Oh what pain to see
Life through your eyes:
The illness and affliction;
The cries.
Nameless no more
On that peaceful stream
With the dawn of
The morning sun
They rise —
You are loved; you are thought of.
Behind the Scenes Photos on Hart Island, NYC’s Mass Burial Ground
“You should smile more” a stranger says; yet she dies on the inside.
She stares at him as if she is looking through a glass pane.
In her eyes are years of torment and unceasing rain.
Silence is all she can muster; he is shaken as he looks upon her.
In my anxiety
I thought I had
Found an angel
On the day
You said that
You loved me,
But unbeknownst
To me
It had been
A work of trickery,
And the beginning
Of my misery.
In our mother’s agony we were born.
In our own agony we live.