A requiem set to the tunes of war,
in outlandish Zurich, a refuge created for
break-aways from
the insanity and the butcheries of war,
the Dadaists lived an idyllic life,
loud, cacophonous, sad but robust,
and when the dusk settled
they dispersed, all,
some with dreams of a new haven,
some with poetry tucked under their arms.
A dream dispersed
as all dreams do.
But their words and the hurried strokes of paint on the feverish canvas of war
reverberate with thunder that chills and
shakes us out of our deadened brains
A frightened canvas,
blank, voiceless.
Something calls, a vague recall.
A road darts straight
into the heart of longing.
Icy winds, desert storms, caravans moving endlessly,
a beauty transformed into an ageless canto,
an endless dream.
Words halt, a glimpse of a haven where young souls lived, in the icy warmth of winter winds.
After a long spell of humid grey
the sky opens a portal warm.
Out there the palm leaves sway
and on a clothesline hang the melodies of colors soaking in the warmth of winds.
I relate
to a recall,
calling me again
to a canvas, immaculate, virgin, pure.
There is a road I see.
It beckons me.
A halcyon day from a different time.
Seagulls hover, herons wait,
the waves crash,
the salt air stings the skin.
Joy is a steep tidal wave,
swirling, sweeping away,
washing all over the body and the mind.
The temporal season gives way
to a timeless portal of life.
By:
(c) Sushama Karnik
in outlandish Zurich, a refuge created for
break-aways from
the insanity and the butcheries of war,
the Dadaists lived an idyllic life,
loud, cacophonous, sad but robust,
and when the dusk settled
they dispersed, all,
some with dreams of a new haven,
some with poetry tucked under their arms.
A dream dispersed
as all dreams do.
But their words and the hurried strokes of paint on the feverish canvas of war
reverberate with thunder that chills and
shakes us out of our deadened brains
A frightened canvas,
blank, voiceless.
Something calls, a vague recall.
A road darts straight
into the heart of longing.
Icy winds, desert storms, caravans moving endlessly,
a beauty transformed into an ageless canto,
an endless dream.
Words halt, a glimpse of a haven where young souls lived, in the icy warmth of winter winds.
After a long spell of humid grey
the sky opens a portal warm.
Out there the palm leaves sway
and on a clothesline hang the melodies of colors soaking in the warmth of winds.
I relate
to a recall,
calling me again
to a canvas, immaculate, virgin, pure.
There is a road I see.
It beckons me.
A halcyon day from a different time.
Seagulls hover, herons wait,
the waves crash,
the salt air stings the skin.
Joy is a steep tidal wave,
swirling, sweeping away,
washing all over the body and the mind.
The temporal season gives way
to a timeless portal of life.
By:
(c) Sushama Karnik
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