It's a strange kind of love
The waves that are held captive by the sea
Yet to be kissed by the shoreline eventually
her solid feet still travel
the lonesome barren land
the vast savage grounds
she holds in her heart like fire.
with pride she walks and dances
through the dark, through the flame
she leaves her mark but never lingers
oh, she is only with the wind to stay
if it does not leave me bewitched
terrified to the bone
give me that sensation of unease
right before a fall
if my skin does not live its seasons
the chill of winters twilight
the warmth of its embers
of homecoming during a storm
if it’s not like the crash of waves
against bare rocks its devoting mark
full of trembles its withholding
before the bursting ******
Love, you ask?
if love isn’t all that, I don’t want it
oh, I don’t want it at all.
When I lift my head and meet your eyes
Everything in the world is put to shame;
Deepest of seas, widest of sapphire skies
Are all an insult for where is their flame?
You make the sun blush even at darkest of night,
The moon glow more with each upward stare;
Ironic how you'd pick up a sword in a fight
For the most deadly weapon you already wear.
I carefully look at you from across the fire
You answer me, holding my weakening glance
A smile - you know exactly what you are doing;
You expose me, reveal me, won't give me a chance.
I take a deep breath and crash like the waves
Feel myself powerlessly washing ashore;
I know I am helpless as I again drift back,
And tenderly drown in your blueness once more.
I abandon the path and mark my visit
deep into natures greens and hidden groves
how the beauty of everything intoxicates me,
and consuming it all leaves me only with no sense:
speechless and bewildered, like a baby.
words seem but a lost cause to me ;
it is almost as if the ferns and its charms
don’t want to be spoken of –
not even a praise.
upon astray land I leave my trail
up the thick pine hill, down the lonesome glen
I sit desperately, in search of only half a word –
it makes no difference at all.
a hint, a hum of frigid air
deep twilight falls upon me like a star
and I fall with it into my own silence.
the hypnotizing haunt of crickets in unseen places
numbs me, almost becomes me
and I become them, like everything becomes
the other thing that lives in its own way.
and just hearing the wise creek babbling,
the traveling breezes’ secret murmur ;
I know I have been unaware all along.
the poem was never mine to write:
I have only to listen.
I am made of heartbreak and yet still
And the wind will keep blowing
And the trees will keep growing
And the birds will keep singing
And the vine will keep clinging
And the cold will keep biting
And the storm will keep fighting
And the days will keep passing
Because nothing waits for anybody