This Summer
This summer the sun will shine on your window pane
and a thousand suns will reflect from the prism
of your eyes as yo stand and watch
the house standing opposite your sash-window panel
the vacant house, desolate, bleak,
staring back at you.
Here in my window the orchids will catch
all the rays coming from you
in blues and white, the yellow light
and they will send them back to you
in multitudes of tripled tiaras of wealth.
Here from my window
miles across the sea and another continent
of space and mind
I know you would gladly buy that vacant house
with all the money you can pool;
and yet , I know you have not the heart
to buy it and move in there,
for all the moons that may shine
upon you and those vacant window panes.
The bleak house will stare back and read
all those words you held back and did not speak
when the season was ripe , but it was still not right
for the strings of the harp to unwind the sound of the wing.
Your sky was mute, and it was the darkest night.
I hear you speak those words
as you rehearse
in the private hour of the dawn
all that had flown in between .
"May I sit on your bench, I love how the benches
warm up in the evening glow. "
"I love how the sun draws patterns light
from the latticed windows of the maple above.'
"I love the benches casting shadows in the twilight
of the sun before he parts."
"And I love the benches and the leaves falling
without a sound as they meet the ground
soaking in the light as they lie low."
"I love the leaves on the pavement here;
but we will not go and collect them.
"Yes, we will not. We will walk on them lightly,
and they will carry the burden of our thoughts lightly.."
"And we will walk on the sand in single file
to fool the people who will come tomorrow.
They will see only the footprint without you and me.
And they will say, "Someone passed alone along this way."
"Then the wind will come and cover the tracks
as if we were not there."
"And how we would like to believe
the word in the leaves, on the empty seat,
and the word in the wind and the sand,
the word that would say we are still there
after you and I are gone."
A poem written in a quick give and take on the net by Sushama Karnik and Tanya Dimitrova.
This summer the sun will shine on your window pane
and a thousand suns will reflect from the prism
of your eyes as yo stand and watch
the house standing opposite your sash-window panel
the vacant house, desolate, bleak,
staring back at you.
Here in my window the orchids will catch
all the rays coming from you
in blues and white, the yellow light
and they will send them back to you
in multitudes of tripled tiaras of wealth.
Here from my window
miles across the sea and another continent
of space and mind
I know you would gladly buy that vacant house
with all the money you can pool;
and yet , I know you have not the heart
to buy it and move in there,
for all the moons that may shine
upon you and those vacant window panes.
The bleak house will stare back and read
all those words you held back and did not speak
when the season was ripe , but it was still not right
for the strings of the harp to unwind the sound of the wing.
Your sky was mute, and it was the darkest night.
I hear you speak those words
as you rehearse
in the private hour of the dawn
all that had flown in between .
"May I sit on your bench, I love how the benches
warm up in the evening glow. "
"I love how the sun draws patterns light
from the latticed windows of the maple above.'
"I love the benches casting shadows in the twilight
of the sun before he parts."
"And I love the benches and the leaves falling
without a sound as they meet the ground
soaking in the light as they lie low."
"I love the leaves on the pavement here;
but we will not go and collect them.
"Yes, we will not. We will walk on them lightly,
and they will carry the burden of our thoughts lightly.."
"And we will walk on the sand in single file
to fool the people who will come tomorrow.
They will see only the footprint without you and me.
And they will say, "Someone passed alone along this way."
"Then the wind will come and cover the tracks
as if we were not there."
"And how we would like to believe
the word in the leaves, on the empty seat,
and the word in the wind and the sand,
the word that would say we are still there
after you and I are gone."
A poem written in a quick give and take on the net by Sushama Karnik and Tanya Dimitrova.
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