Monday 24 September 2018

A friend

The yolk-yellow moon
balloons up slowly
through the lattice
of the old pagoda;

some twitterer's excited -
smacks forth chirps
as if he had a pair of lips -
right here in the budding clusters of Wisteria
you were so happy was recovering.

I miss your nearness much
these days - my memories have left
your illness, rewind
to days of early years -
you strong, your voice still full,
your macho kindnesses
startling my love into wonder
and depths between us
we'd not known.

How to speak fulfilment?
How does the full moon move itself
out of its honey bed
to whiteness
- almost blinding
the discretions of night?

Sadness has no legs. It sits
and listens to the sighings
of wind in oaks and deodars.

Wind cannot blow the moon away,
nor sadness, loyally returning.
A friend it is,
accompaning my yearning.

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