remembering Nanceylla

remembering Nanceylla
is like going to that place
where the morn sings peaceful chants
and the breeze tolls the bells,

and I remember catching the girl
standing on the staircase looking at me,
"Going out?" she would ask
Her eyes filled with curiosity,
"yes" I would have nodded,
And she would just yell
"I want to go out too!"

remembering Nanceylla
is like walking up a slope,
and the morning mist and fog
draping the hills, and life taking a sprint,

"yepee!" She would burst, exclaiming
finding a cone of pine amongst
fallen twines and twigs,
a wood nut tree dressed in algae and a sudden sighting of a monastery,
and smell of incensed leaves,

remembering Nanceylla
is like living another life,
free from cares and meeting
the children of a paradise.

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