Yeah, it's late. I know.
I have a few half finished posts that are just not cooked yet. So for now I leave with you this haiku, written by me, while sitting next to MohaDoha in our Asian Literature class eight years ago.
Threads hang from her hem,
the widow bends to pick up
I found it in an envelope with this piece of counterfeit Viet Namese money:
I'll post again later. (I think).