THE FATHER came back from the funeral rites. His boy of seven stood at the window, with eyes wide open and a golden amulet hanging from his neck, full of thoughts too difficult for his age. His father took him in his arms and the boy asked him, 'Where is mother?' In heaven,' answered his father, pointing to the sky. At night the father groaned in slumber, weary with grief. A lamp dimly burned near the bedroom door, and a lizard chased moths on the wall. The boy woke up from sleep, felt with his hands the emptiness in the bed, and stole out to the open terrace. The boy raised his eyes to the sky and long gazed in silence. His bewildered mind sent abroad into the night the question, 'Where is heaven?' No answer came: and the stars seemed like the burning tears of that ignorant darkness.
YOU, LIKE A rivulet swift and sinuous, laugh and dance, and your steps sing as you trip along. I, like a bank rugged and steep, stand speechless and stock-still and darkly gaze at you. I, like a big, foolish storm, of a sudden come rushing on and try to rend my being and scatter it parcelled in a whirl of passion. You, like the lightning's flash slender and keen, pierce the heart of the turbulent darkness, to disappear in a vivid streak of laughter.
