Green grass, thin blades
green stems, humble aids
green hoppers, chirp strain
green thorns, proud disdain
Red petals, moist seams
red butterflies, despairing dreams
red buds, promissory visions
red berries, sweet illusions
Sunshine,
the much anticipated; the deliverance
On a firm branch of a Beech
Hangs my upturned silhouette
loneliness engulfs my world
speaks not, my neighboring leaf
And in this aimless existence,
find I no source, no sink
but for her boundless curls
but for the moles on her cheek
Come afternoon,
she walks up to the mighty trunk
There’s a calm sea in those eyes
that froth and foam but only on the fringes
perhaps it’s indicative of some purpose
else, just a tempered zest
And brushing clean the cold limestone slab
that forms just the perfect seat
slowly, she sits just below my reach
and reads aloud every single page
Come dusk,
she leaves; need I explain my misery?
I wait the whole night
and couldn’t care less about the day
to hear her assume the many voices
with honest, capricious glee
And every other day
she brings the same big volume
and every single day
she comes up here, without fail
And I hear the cryptic thrush
Laugh and ridicule my passion
But how does one explain
that before she began her visits
had I never felt this way
had I never wanted anything this bad?
How does one resolve
the everlasting dispute on love
the get-to-know-‘em-first
and the wounded-at-first-sight?
Want, desire, demand
believe me, they ain’t the same
What does a leaf know about Shakespeare?
All I want is for her to read to me
what care I for pathetic fallacies
all I desire is to belong to her
There isn’t a truth to be shared here
but that the sole thing I demand
from whatever that pulls our strings
is to let me be able to reach her
Anywhere would do,
Brown curls, slim fingers, pink lips, small feet
What was that
Was it the work of the wind?
Or the outcome of my burning desire?
Or just the hand of fate?
But I find myself moments later,
plunge down onto the limestone slab
but it’s not just me, a whole host of us
rest fallen from our exalted perch
Is there, after all, truth to that
the more you leave, the less you lose ?
I waited eagerly from dawn till dusk
surely this was the day I had waited for all along
surely she'll feel my burning passion
surely she'll notice the red from the green
She didn't come.