Reminiscent

Each place is a person,
each person a place;
by shape, by a life.

The place means nothing
without the person;
without soul,
without shine.

I dare not to visit such places
that have become sinkholes,
ghost of the person looking
straight at you from the past.

Each room, each furniture,
walls, windows, flowers;
smell like the person,
feel like the person.

I dare not to touch them,
not to wash them with
a coat of whitewash,
with new furniture,
framing memories in the walls.

The place echoes same sound,
flowers in sinkholes
-- fresh inside heart;
still smell like the person,
feel like the person.

Each place remains a person,
each person remains a place,
by senses, by soul;
in life,
after life.