Cleave the soul of yours,
into two beautiful halves
the insides of them,
do they stink like fear?
it is because they have been untouched
for too long like the torn halves
of a dusted photo-album
that is drowning in memories.
Wash them tonight
in the river of nostalgia,
let them dry in the breeze of dreams.
Come morning, when the heart yearns for them,
sew them back as a whole with the thread of love.
It is necessary
for there is nothing better in life than a soul
that smells like hope.