Dear Reader, Hereby I leave you with one of my oldest poems. Instead of writing an intro about what this small book is about, I rather, show you. Yours, Marvin Poem: The Visit Yesterday, my ghosts came to visit me. They repeatedly told me of all the times I had failed. They reminded me of who I used to be. As dawn approached, I took the bus and got off at a place in the Bronx I didn’t know much, then I walked back home as my ghosts talked to me, reminding me of who I really am, telling me who I won’t ever become, recounting me of all the loved ones I’ve lost. As soon as I entered my apartment, I served them tea. I thanked them for their visit, but they wouldn’t leave. They wouldn’t leave. Till this day they're still here.
In a courtroom where people are not physically allowed to lie, the most unthinkable stories emerge. Everyone must deliver a speech or story pertaining to what their lives were like: drama, thriller, love, hate, and sorrow are just a few of the trays that each person’s story contains. Regardless of how malicious or righteous their lives were, at the end, each person may get a second chance. But it’d be up to The Hearing Court to decide which person would have such a chance. This time, there was no need for a lawyer or a reading of their inalienable rights. This time, they had no rights—only a courtroom filled with anxious and unbiased listeners who would have no sympathy for one’s tears, begging, or melancholy case. In a court where time doesn’t matter, and love and hope dance together, speakers try their best to recount what could be their last story.
Dear Reader, Hereby I leave you with one of my oldest poems. Instead of writing an intro about what this small book is about, I rather, show you. Yours, Marvin Poem: The Visit Yesterday, my ghosts came to visit me. They repeatedly told me of all the times I had failed. They reminded me of who I used to be. As dawn approached, I took the bus and got off at a place in the Bronx I didn’t know much, then I walked back home as my ghosts talked to me, reminding me of who I really am, telling me who I won’t ever become, recounting me of all the loved ones I’ve lost. As soon as I entered my apartment, I served them tea. I thanked them for their visit, but they wouldn’t leave. They wouldn’t leave. Till this day they're still here.
In a courtroom where people are not physically allowed to lie, the most unthinkable stories emerge. Everyone must deliver a speech or story pertaining to what their lives were like: drama, thriller, love, hate, and sorrow are just a few of the trays that each person’s story contains. Regardless of how malicious or righteous their lives were, at the end, each person may get a second chance. But it’d be up to The Hearing Court to decide which person would have such a chance. This time, there was no need for a lawyer or a reading of their inalienable rights. This time, they had no rights—only a courtroom filled with anxious and unbiased listeners who would have no sympathy for one’s tears, begging, or melancholy case. In a court where time doesn’t matter, and love and hope dance together, speakers try their best to recount what could be their last story.
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