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If you think this might be about you, please, don't stop reading.
Though I might not know you yet I have probably encountered you before.
We probably avoided colliding but secretly we wanted to. Maybe you are one of the boys on the bus who, for a sixteenth of a second makes my heart pound and my fingertips go numb, hoping that you'd notice me.

I want you to play your tongue across the piano keys of my teeth.
I want us to sing the themes of Pucchini operas while we make rainy Sunday pancakes.
I want to walk with you through the vineyards of your homeland.
Let me take the weight of your world and put it somewhere beneath my shoulders,
for me to carry with me.
I will never use us in the past tense.
We will never look sad in photographs
and our airmail correspondances will be kept in floral boxes and hidden
for one of our daughters to discover.
Our love will be in the brushstrokes of Signac and Monet.

We will discover that the island of Hawaii
is like the excess emotions of the world
that have congealed out of the earth
to be comforted by the rocking waves.
The sunsets hearts of the people will welcome us.
On the black earth
they walk
their hands filled with sun bleached coral stones.
And they spell out messages and write out the names of the ones they love
so even God can read what's in their hearts.

And when the world takes you from me
which it undoubtably will
I will scatter your ashes in the places we have walked.
along the vineyard trails
and the mountain peaks
and in the deepest oceans we crossed for one another
I will let go of you
let you leave my hands on the winds that rush through Death Valley
while I drive along the same highway
that we carved together.
And I will return to the island of Hawaii
carrying white stones to write out your name
for God to read.
NOTE*  -  *The largest animal in Great Britain, a red stag named Emperor who stood over 9ft tall, was last night shot dead by a trophy hunter. The antlers of the majestic deer are highly prized, and after pictures of the stag appeared in the national press last week, the animal was tracked and killed in Exmoor, Devon.



These mist covered mountains of the highlands,
‘twas here that I once freely wandered upon nature’s pasture grounds,
Now I lie shrouded in the mournful fog of the lowlands,
‘twas here that I was met by a pack of bone breaking hounds.

The fresh dew upon the harvest of autumn’s final flowering,
‘twas here that I chewed the grass of sweet nature’s offering,
Now I grow cold upon the ground where I was stalked by dark doom,
‘twas here that I left life’s rocky way under a hunter’s moon.

The air of the early morn moor with the sky above my dome,
‘twas here that I ran and with joy loved and royally roamed,
Now my legs will nevermore click or clack over my domain fenced with tree gates,
‘twas here that I wooed and won my shy majestic mate.

She, my queen of the green woodlands, she was my wife and my empire,
‘twas here that we romanced in the fading summer’s fire,
Our charming child, my princess of these grassy hills now cloaked in shade,
‘twas here that she saw her father the monarch in death finally fade.

In the chorus of the dancing dawn awakening upon the horizon’s golden rhyme,
‘twas here that I sang the tune that will drum till the end of nature’s time,
They will come with stakes and wood and cross and bow me to the beams,
‘twas here where they hacked and tore off my enchanted crown of weeping dreams.

The scent of the freshly mown grass mingles with the green pine,
‘twas here that I drank the perfume and nectar of the divine,
My eyes glaze, my breathing falters, my clay chills, my soul no more sings,
‘twas here that I finally returned to the hands of my Beloved, the eternal King.

"...I shall now graze upon the sacred acres of my Creator,
I shall frolic and run free in the tender fields of endless splendour..."




©Rangzeb Hussain

— The End —