vive pablo wallerstein: re-encuentro con su madre, Ana, en Londrés

Death is smaller than I thought

Pablo died some years ago.
I loved him very much.
When he died my love for him
Did not vanish or fade away.
It stayed just about the same,
Only a sadder colour.
And I can feel his love
For me,
Same as it ever was.

Nowadays in good times or bad,
I sometimes ask Pablo
To walk besides me
Or to sit with me
So we can talk together
Or be silent.

He always comes to me.
It's very simple--
Nothing to do with spiritualism
Or religion or mumbo-jumbo.

It is imaginary.
It is real.
It is love.

adaption of a poem by Adrian Mitchell