Poems

Garden Statues

Between the last night
and the first night...
      a lake of tranquility...
.... ....

Leave that glass of memory to memory -
let its essence transmute all these nights into gold

Leave the voice of Ali Farka Toure
soaring
through the silvered light of that room,
a room inlaid with the jewels of minutes and hours

Leave your hands lost in the fleeting characters of a
keyboard

Leave that wooden rocking-horse
the old teddy-bear propped on a chair
the neighbouring gardens

Leave the sun still toying with the sky at eight in the evening

Leave the window open
on a morning arrayed with morning
Leave that flower labouring to consume you

Leave the peacock emblazoned on a field of beauty

Leave.... .... ....

Whatever little time is left
will never return...

These jewels cannot return
Thirst will not be slaked by the distant glimpse of a sail

And when you left
you were burnished,
you were consumed and yet complete,
you were fashioned from mother-of-pearl

Then, suddenly, once again,
you were downcast in clay

Weekdays returned, empty handed
Routine returned

And silence reigned

London 5th April, 2006

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Comments (3)

Prasa

I needed to know the metaphor of this poem. please provide.

fareed abdulhameed ismail

SO DEEP POEM AND CLEAR….....MAN IS THE MAN AT LAST AND ALL COVERS ARE SHADES ACCOMPANING CLAY

nagapie

Breathtaking

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