Many an April has ignited the muse permeated into the skin, as water that seeks to mould the intentions of salt, of sugar and sand which is the most muted shade of gold, in twilight the water is darker as muse adopts its characteristic pattern and when April ends, I sigh as though a lover waiting to be kissed again.
Why do white orchids stand alone? Can we be as naked as them in their purity? Tell me where did the afternoon sun learn to be so unforgiving, is this a sign that the world is coming to an end? Lovers are at one with the hovering of night, I wonder if their laughter causes the moon to be jealous? Does heaven distinguish between mosque, temple and cathedral? Must nature be victim to atrocities of war, tears of blood and confusion? I have walked upon the path of self-doubt, met a few energy eating monsters along the way how does rain know when to deprive me of candied desperation? Does the butterfly know weed from flower? Why are trees insistent upon participating in conversation? I have long learned the value of time, how do you prevent forever from slipping out of your hands? If I am to die the next day would it matter to you that you can no longer hear my voice? Why does music have a calming effect upon the ear? Tell me, what does poetry do for you
when the soul yearns for more? The answer lies somewhere inside your heart.
Play for me unremittingly, leave me a tender moment in a tea cup a stolen kiss, a backward glance and I will pledge my heart my soul, my undying allegiance and love to you many an autumn has witnessed the passing of decades the swirling of smoke, and broken hopes lying debilitated upon the ground like a pile of ash, go on tell me what you were just about to ask above the sky reeks of desolation and dismay, yet these verses of mine hold hands with resilience and joy, what’s the cause of this bravery my writing does not say, play for me when the wind is tossing the amaryllis,
when moon refuses to settle
and is bleeding sliver, I have seen you during the darkest hour, in times of sorrow, and in times of disassociation with the mind, how you blend with the notes of the piano for feelings might not always be reachable, I am rain oblivious to the impression I give, an echo bursting into the shades of urban life, play for me because no matter how diverse the melody you and I’ll always
unite in chorus.
Like the color yellow indulge in the soft rays of twilight, embrace healing, breathe in the honey scent of double-early tulips, sit back and relax cradle a coffee mug, return to the glossy pages of a magazine we have managed to reach the end of April and the mind as we know it is completely saturated, rewind, reboot, recharge savour the taste of brown butter pecan bourbon ice-cream, the melody of a Poet’s muse is similar to an Artist’s brush stroke, to the flickering fate of fireflies, inhale every detail of your surroundings, the atmosphere and before you know it, a poem will emerge sweet as consummating souls kissing passionately, I have learned with time that in order to write on diligently, one must learn to remove all trace of doubt, trust their instinct and simply let go.
I have tossed strawberries, rinsed romain lettuce and torn them into bite size pieces for good measure, I have topped the bowl with a generous sprinkling of fresh mint emerald green in appearance, I know you prefer raspberry vinegar so, I went to the market and bought a bottle in advance along with blueberries arresting as the April sky, now all that’s left is feta cheese without which the salad would be incomplete. Forgive me I am rather embarrassed that I didn’t save you any, it was heavenly.