Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Who is she, paying obeisance at your grave?
Like the psalms, like a very sad psalm;
With blossoms of remorseful tears,
Flowered in the morning’s radiance,
Of your reminiscence.
She reasoned your love with measures of gold,
Added them for affluence, with dried tears and grief.
Why does she still hearken for the treads,
Having gained everything in life?
She reckons, there is a heart throbbing
Deep inside the cavern of this tomb!
Is that possible the heart will resurge, after
Having suffered the stings of outrageous love?
Is that possible that echoes will be heard,
Of a voice, swallowed by mysterious silence?
These remembrances are blossoms falling down in the mud
Of life, and new footprints obliterate them from the mind;
Like a golden flame of the heart, extinguished by
The sighs of the arrogant wind, of greed.