Back after a hiatus of a few months. Missed PoetBay sorely.
The Yellow Chrysanthemum
After Louise Glück
Legs rooted in the plastic vase, I push
my frail body up, open my many arms
to my morbid messiah, my jaundiced sun.
Inhaling a lungful city air from this high
window, I dream of meadows, where my old
companions toss their bodies, their souls
in an unsayable rhythm of an unsayable song.
A splash of gold, a touch of vermillion above—
and I open my heart to the curious visitors
wanting to know what drives this little
red-and-yellow engine. No, not desire—
but a lack thereof. At the end of desire
is a door, from where I’ll walk out, wilt & wither,
and meet my fate. Whatever returns, returns
with a certainty, returns to plant its tired legs,
to flower again beneath the sun-kissed space,
to seek meaning inside the suburban windows,
to breathe, to grow, sans desire/sans hope.
Poetry by Bibek
Read 72 times
Written on 2021-04-02 at 17:08
Tags Life  Desire  Growth
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)