Now that the leaves from the sugar gum trees have fallen

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Basket of figs is enough to wish upon;Β 
saccharine, swirling dark empty spaces,
do they really exist for us to lose ourselves in?
For the avoidance of doubt
the chords of guitar have marked these fingers,
they are washed all over faded denim
snug, ripped at the knees and hot.
I’d like to think the one you conceal from everyone is visible
to me and my breath only;
stirred, the winter wind continues to blow
now that the leaves from the sugar gum trees have fallen,
they are so proud as though carob skin was their glory
all along-
they are instruments meant to cajole the swooping birds;
won’t you listen,
the bluegrass is something of a wonder that beckons
even from a distance.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Grace is our hostess today at dVerse with another prompt on
synaesthesia, this time on the cross over between music
and
color. Come join us! πŸ’

Posted for MTB: Synesthesia @ dVerse Poets Pub

32 Replies to “Now that the leaves from the sugar gum trees have fallen”

  1. Oh Sanaa, this is magical! I was especially titillated by “I’d like to think the one you conceal from everyone is visible
    to me and my breath only” πŸ’–

  2. Good on you, you scribed a beautiful poem, rocked the prompt, and sprinkled it with romance. I liked “they are washed all over faded denim snug, ripped at the knees and hot.”

    1. Thank you so much, Grace πŸ˜€ so glad you enjoyed it πŸ’„β€οΈ

      (and thank you for the glorious prompt) 🌹

  3. Intimate and beautiful, I liked this line, “I’d like to think the one you conceal from everyone is visible to me and my breath only” The image brings a similar vibe which is haunting and poignant. Loved it!

  4. A beautiful poem of love hidden away in winter:
    ‘I’d like to think the one you conceal from everyone is visible
    to me and my breath only’
    – just delightful πŸ™

  5. The title is such a hook, Sanaa, and the opening lines so sweet with the basket of figs – a hint of Christmas over here, as figgy pudding is in one of our traditional songs. The lines that touched me most reminded me of my misspent youth:
    β€˜the chords of guitar have marked these fingers,
    they are washed all over faded denim
    snug, ripped at the knees and hot.’
    Guitar and faded denim belong together.

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