Oh so well!
Your heart desires of me
You painted me so well on a canvas
All those dripped paints on the floor
and those dried up paint-brushes,
whisper in my ears
How much I was present
Even when not present in real
Oh! The way it smells
It smells the same as I do
I appreciate the art
Not of portrait-making
But of creating my presence.
In your eyes
I must have been residing
for ages now
For who else could have captured
My eyes and my scent
without knowing me so well.
I will let you keep this scent of mine
To remind you in your senility
Giving you a sense of freshness then
Reminding you of me.
Hope
Ai Qing
