I watch summer melt in your eyes, a summer of wine and hot winds, of iced tea in porcelain cups, a season of falling tears amid late afternoon sun with the juice of half-eaten fruit staining the linen. Trapped in the curve of your face, a smile trembles, a mouth that can speak of love in seven languages seeks to escape its prison with a single word that cannot form itself. I think of this poem and how it becomes a world defined by your absence, a landscape lacking your touch, an eye that does not see its face.
Aching sorrow in this. We relinquish our entitlement to happiness when we surrender so much of ourselves. Because we have to earn the lesson to know better.
Just read a few times over . Just before midnight . I see the deep dark eyes in front of my face iris cloaked with the last dinner we enjoyed in Mexico. A Romanian yogi before she leaves on her last journey. Hopeful for a cure that she believed will save her, months of giving to others meditation and prayer. The midnight hour has come and gone. I lie alone in a dark room. Years have gone but she returns with her open eyes looking at me before her last breath. I close my eyes and her face comes closer. I just feel her sigh and see her smile.
Words dripping with the passion of poetry.
Thanks, Stan
So grateful to this wonderful Substack author for creating this amazing list of authors.
https://open.substack.com/pub/semorterlaing/p/help-me-build-a-poetic-library?r=a4vn&utm_medium=ios&utm_campaign=post
Aching sorrow in this. We relinquish our entitlement to happiness when we surrender so much of ourselves. Because we have to earn the lesson to know better.
Thanks for the comment, Patris.
Just read a few times over . Just before midnight . I see the deep dark eyes in front of my face iris cloaked with the last dinner we enjoyed in Mexico. A Romanian yogi before she leaves on her last journey. Hopeful for a cure that she believed will save her, months of giving to others meditation and prayer. The midnight hour has come and gone. I lie alone in a dark room. Years have gone but she returns with her open eyes looking at me before her last breath. I close my eyes and her face comes closer. I just feel her sigh and see her smile.
So achingly beautiful.
Thank you, Troy
“an eye that does not see its face”❤️
Beautiful and thought-provoking!
Thank you, Nida, for reading and for your comment!
Mas tem mais alegria ❤️
Mais prazer , mais beleza , mais intimidade
Mas curiosidade sobre a vida e sobre o que pode vir no horizonte
Mas esperança do que choro
Mas também a lágrimas
Não seria verdadeiro se não houvesse
O olho que não vê seu rosto ainda verá suas lágrimas
Lágrimas de prazer ?
De alegria? Contentamento?
Elas existem em mim
Já as soltei muitas vezes durante imenso prazer
Você já me ouviu falar nesses momentos
Choro
Um choro em muitos momentos
O poema torna-se aquele que não está lá, Berkana
Bittersweet! *sigh*
It is a bit bittersweet. I posted this piece last August and it didn’t receive a single view so I’m happy to see a larger audience get to read it.
Paul, you have most likely have restacked but if not, do. It’s another way to introduce readers to your wondrous poetry.
Quite poignant, Paul.
Beautiful
Thanks, Mark!
Thank you for restacking this, @The Rewind