You came to me, one monsoon night,
while I was sitting alone, frozen
at one corner of my cubicle, thinking -
soberly intoxicated and wide awake
from the debris of thought and despair
that had weight me down. I was
a july in december. A thin linen
that didn't quite fit with the world,
was how I felt. But,
you've told me that I would find the key
to open the fragile spark of my soul,
that might keep me 'holding on'.
I opened, the journal,
and poured my heart with words I've imbibed from your intoxication
to the white blank pages.
I used to tell myself, why
had I been searching for the key
when you were always open for me.
Fantastic poem. Beautiful expression. perfect language for translating images into words. Thanks. ....the debris of thought and despair / that had weight me down. I was / a july in december.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful narrative piece of poetry that portrays the discovery of 'breath-of poetic' creation - the ability to give life to words, well articulated and elegantly brought forth with conviction. An insightful poem indeed. Thanks for sharing Seiji. Please read my poem POETIC MASTERPIECE.