Do you know?
Wrapped in the gloom of ancient trees I sip my savoured sorrow,
Remembering; and wondering, what heartbreak does the yew know?
Oaks are breathing fortitude, cypresses leap from death;
Enduring anguish only weeping willow, umbrous yew know.
Beauty and strength I craved, and found - a star like steel burnished.
Did I expect soft as the dove, or docile as a ewe? No.
Your love was all my knowledge then: my world, vital but fallen.
You claimed that I would soon find love again. But what did you know?
A magnet for my love, you tore from me all joy and kindness,
So,trembling, my friends now ask: would I return to you? - No!
Tombstones are my haunt, welcome signposts to rest eternal,
Yet would I follow down the path engraven and leave you? No.
I linger in the friendly arms, dark tresses of these shadows,
And tell the sighing trees secrets of love which none but you know.
Two outbursts of desire; time flooded by eternity;
All pleasure and all pain of life form in one cloudy shell.
On passion's winds swept to love's sun, becalmed upon the way;
Suspense: a void, near earth, near heaven, hung in a cloudish hell.
You share yourself, untroubled, bright and all too warm.
Longing for your rays alone I sulk in cloudy shell.
Amorphous thirsty creatures crawl, live in the dregs of day.
Exposed: searing, too bright! they hide within a cloudy shell.
I dance, I sit, I walk with all, yet feel only your glance;
Eyes which look but do not see, glazed like a cloudy shell.
On fields of sand the children fray, or grow their castle crops,
Alone, a treasure seeker, I, hunting my cloudy shell.
Intricacies gleaming, colours, patterns known so well;
Are these delicate delights nought but a cloudy shell?
In glory of soul-piercing light, unheralded on earth
The King descends, reveals us all, riding a cloudy shell.
The Red Flower
Moments of treasured memory all hinge about that hour:
Perfection of its kind I met - a fragrant, red, flower.
Hair smooth as satin petals, the dark star-stamen eyes,
Your budding lips I longed to kiss, became my red flower.
Bulb of passion, my heart filled, till veins and limbs it grew,
And I lived as your devotee: a mute, red, flower.
In throes of night I dreamed: your beauty was so dry, so rare,
They shrined you in a crystal case, the label read: ‘Flower'.
Jungle people know the living icon I have met;
They call the burning power of man - fire - 'the red flower.’
When I have lost all memory, I will live in that hour:
Perfection of its kind I knew - a fragrant, red, flower.