The Parting Song

(thoughts in two minutes of emotional madness)

If the wind would not have blown,
I would not have known, that
Such a fragrance exists.

With the wind gone, i'll burn the
Hearth and let the fire make merry.
In my smoked palms you would
No longer be-- a provocation
For you to come back and
Dab me again, this time
With another fragrance.

The Gift

If I had to gift you something, what
Would that be?
Isn’t it an inconclusive affair, for
The gift would have to live a timeless life
In the ken of your ageing eye, drawing
From the fountain of youth not the key
Of the hereafter
But the secret of the dew-drops’ ability
To comfort our vision every morning.

It should speak to you the
Words of the last rays of the sun in
Your moments of silence,
And bring to you the tidings from the
World of hope. To be able to lead you
Through the nameless road,
Down to the factory where
Dreams are made.

It should hide within itself a chest of
Unheard songs, a note of which
Would be discovered by you
Everyday, to be
Hummed in your moments of
Oblivion.

In my travels to the new lands, never
Have I seen such a thing. Its presence was but
In pieces of insignificance.
Fragments of it lay
In the breath of a fall from a cliff, while I
Discovered some more in the clamor
Of the silent lake. I even found its element
Hanging onto the swirl of the
Fast dissipating smoke of my
Marijuana sober thoughts.

When the Pimpernel would embrace
The dull weather with its flowers,
I’d tell you of my searches in the boondocks,
For you to lay your hands on the pieces
I could not hold in my palm.
Until then, I’d home these
In my eyes,
With the hope to wrap it in
The colors of reflection
For you.