All day the sun does grow. Baring its vivid yellow skin shamelessly. I looked cautiously, and asked a question. ”What will you be in the future?” ”Just the sun, with our eternal love in my heart” she answered. Fluttering with my first moment. I made my way home.
My feet on solid ground. I sent you the moon last night. It was lying in stillness, a witness to a know delight. Tender in my love for you, a coveting… a craving. Your soul danced in me, a gentle blush in shame. Don’t stop. Never stop.
Every morning, I walk to the window. The sky and the trees give living lessons. How to tread the shadows of returning solitude. By the time the sun arrives, silence is soaked in blue streams of love. I take a deep breath, another serene morning. Spread like a picture, and lengthened.
Sun up, work. Write well and drink plenty of water. Sundown, to rest. Eat tofu and of the grain. Then to bed. Make love, like a rose caught in my mouth. Goodnight, with life still beating inside me.
I keep walking in those lanes. The moonlit mountains, rising and falling. And then, a middle ground. The sky, the cicadas and you. A resurge of kindness and love. I know then, I will find my way home.
If I remember rightly, we struck a road – an unconventional one. One that saw good houses full of life, and the spring winds opening the flatness of the books. The ghosts complained, that this was not the age-old way of the rain. And if we carried on, the seas will dry into a shiny desert. But we carried on anyway, to close to paradise – and too tired of the saddest city roads.
Sometimes you meet them, in real life or in our dreams. The kind that catches a butterfly, to watch it die. They never talk about love, or a Murakami plot. But like to shout “Get out! Get out! Get out”. As they throw your clothes and poetry books, into a late-night street. Then, they refill a new bottle – and can’t remember what they said last night. But around me, starlight comes tumbling. And those yellow arms that shielded me then, shield me now With my words welling and swelling, there is new hope. I rise, you rise and we all rise.
In a strange town she confessed that she loved me. I thought where are the Dutch and the Portuguese when you need them. I left it as it was. Her walking away with an erotic swish. Me following and wanting to know more.
Watch now, how I begin this day. Yes, I find myself sighing. at the cruellest devil – full of blunder and fail. But somewhere a poet exists. So, I start the day in happiness, in kindness. And excess love from your swollen heart.
A Wandering Poet 