To see thee...
to daunt winter into a spring scented swirl,
to chance upon a leaf from a bud unfurl,
THUS dim Apollo’s smile with a gold gilded curl.
To talk with thee...
to loose time’s sores down a brook’s babbling game,
to purl and trill down a hushed grove’s shame,
THUS ripple in diamond sparks across time’s frame.
To remember thee...
to leap up the cascades in an upstream race,
to reach the heights hiding halcyon lakes,
THUS gaze at you in your gleaming grace.
To miss thee...
to set sail into the late song of a nightingale,
to brave sirens’ snare veiling all thunder and gale,
THUS seek the honeyed sky from night’s fingers so pale.
To live without thee...
to seal my last sigh in thy morning name,
to hide it fast within my night doomed frame,
THUS prank the dark when I die in morning flare.
to learn the art of the autumnal flame
to draw her tresses over my tired frame,
THUS defy sombre end’s pall donned claim.
THUS TO UNFURL BACK AGAIN!
IN THAT GOLD GILDED CURL I’LL REMAIN!
If one is reconciled with the vagaries of life; they can understand their life is a strand in a great web and learn to respect this reality, they may also think that each strand is inseparable from its mother, always changing form and structure. All the strands in this web are interactive and any ripple created by one will travel across the whole frame of the web causing due change.
As much as the flesh and the spirit, there is the third component of our existence: the cosmic reality of the gestures we make both while we live and after we are gone. And true beauty might as well be hidden in these ‘cosmic ripples’. The concept of ‘existence in cosmic ripples’ is well worth being given the thought. Like what Descartes said: “I think, therefore I am,” we can also say: “We ripple across time, therefore we are gods.” Huh? :) Of course in the sense that we generate rippling sentiments that reach others, multiply and become part of the whole recycling energy.
With our words and deeds, we sow the seeds of akin behavioral patterns in others across the universe, thus transcend the confines of the flesh. Maybe, that’s why writing good poetry was considered a divine art in some mythologies, such as Nordic and Greek. Likewise, the pall of the night can claim only the body in this poem while the rippling cosmic existence of the web of life rises over darkness in the fiery glory of victory. Also in the poem, the speaker, being a strand in this cosmic web, possesses godly properties; even a tad smile they wear may outshine that of the god of sun, prophecy, poetry and music. The Moirae, the Fates or the Grim Sisters of Three, could cut thread of even gods, yet there have been no shears that can clip ripples. They cut the thread of the flesh, yet the ripple the flesh might have created is already on its way across this cosmic reality. It ripples out to your friends, family members, neighbours or even to your pets. These recipients of the ripples, being cosmic, are no longer exactly what they used to be before the ripple transferred something from you to them.
Gestures are more beautiful than gods and they are contagious, rippling across the thread-woven web of life. And the Norns... they weave, measure and cut thread when all the time the web of life stays a whole, gathering information and colours to be even more beautiful. Maybe, the Grim Sisters, ironic with their name, serve for the change to the more beautiful by ceaselessly cutting off thread and weaving in others. Maybe, that’s why there should be glory in death like that of the autumnal leaves... It’s not grim but beautiful.