CELEBRATION OF THE ETERNAL ROSE, 永恆玫瑰的慶典


93

If I confess your body is
The only civilization besides Roses
I long to experience, do not say

Do not say that I only adore blooming things
A Rose at any stage of life is gracious
Moist petalled or dropping wearily

The rain on her lips is like butter-music
If men, were created before women
It is only to appreciate their fullest creation

Like the beauty of the rose whose temptation
Is somehow feminine, a scent spinning
Into oblivion, as flesh seeking to born out living flesh

In blessed and blushing confessions
Or the redness of the weight of the body
The Rose that has told in one simplicity

That never life relinquishes a bloom
But to bestow an ancient confidence:
A man gives a woman a Rose

This symbolic gesture mimics evolution
Women are not roses, they are not
Oceans or stars, I would like to tell her

But I think she already knows.
As a misty dream, our path emerges
Like days of wine and roses, celebration.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/where-the-wild-roses-grow-131859161

POETRY: II


32

We learned how to live from:
Our inner being, the writer that awoke
It wasn’t transformation or escape
It was nurture-nature in her infancy

Our brain listening to our soul’s
Weary shreds of music, poised holograms of
Roses left hung in mid-air
Our words shimmered there like magic

In a corner of the night, it was there –
We taught ourselves what we most
Loved, it wasn’t knowledge, but art
The appreciation of mortality

From the background murmuring
Of the strangest physics, indolent lines
Of our youth while the water was running
A criminal joy of clarifying grammer

The mutable starts fixing their gaze on us
For a brief instant of prophecy and poetry
We learned how to live from it:
The beaded threads of fierce lines

That died for beauty, and loved the frailest
Etching of invisible messages
We married our mothertongues
In deft strokes of secret litanies
The conception, of whatever a poet is.