Saturday, August 13, 2011

Poetry

When I was a child, I found it lying in the streets
abandoned.
I picked it up and pampered it and hid it.
And now like a friend, through the clouds and through mist
Its genderless voice leads me to that naive sapling
who has raised its head too soon from the snow
and then goes right back in, enlightened, frightened,
and wise beyond its years. It sighs with me
at the wrinkled, entwined hands of lovers
when they walk each other from this street to that,
from this shop to that and from this year to that.
Holding my hands, it has taught me to walk
on the mystic road towards a word greater than truth.
They laugh and they say it’s all in my head.
But yet, when I least expect, it talks to me.

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