Monday, August 13, 2012

For Rilke-



And then you look out the window
with the silent patches of green that dorn around
and a metaphor of longing muted into poetry

..Your eyes are poetry, then

.
where they roam around those bookstores of desired unread books
and small shanties of tea shops, where simple stories nest
the woman that stood just there in the platform no. eight redolence in those eyes
you can never let go
where you walked through lands, that lie isolated to you now
blue and white and ash colored dress that you once laid your eyes on
never wore

and
that poem in your eyes that you want to paint in words
but cannot.

and then
birds of horizon fly into the sky
the rains platters sound on the sill
while, you know,

in the silence of your soul
dwells the poetry of your eyes
and in the unsaid are the words

and, that you have lived the longings
the poetry unwritten, was you
always...

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