Every bit of my brother’s and sisters are pieces of a huge puzzle.
So many stories, so many visions, so much tot tell.


When we grew older all seems to clear up.
Less stories, more memory, a lott forgotten.
Somehow something else seems more and more important.


Call of love seems to get louder and louder.
We obtain our breathes in a calm way and visit eachother.


We listen, we hear, and somehow there is a kind of magic in the air.
Where-ever my parents are they guide us from there and scatter rosepebbles of love.


And when we open our heart they visit us quietly and kisses the wounds.
Slowly healing  of all the scars and pain.


When at the end of a day you fall in a deep sleep.
You are woken by the kisses of there being and finally there,
in the presents of love and attention.