when you swallowed his warm words
(to both you and me, vibrations of indubitable masculinity)
and drew them in with a promise to GOD:
'If you were to let me have him, oh Father
to count the grey spurs on my eighty-year-old temples
i would (blah, blah, blah) ...
in Jesus name
Amen! '
when you lost yourself in his starlit courtship
and the gentleness of his hand
crusing the vunerability of your hot-flashing skin
when his ora turned your child-like afternoons
into hard, naughty dusks
you were happier
counting your new silvers dollars
from those now worthless quarters
(they were worthless, aye?)
and your search was over....
when he spoke of me
(and i'm sure he did)
he must have 'mistaken satin from silk' he said
he told you that in me
he had discovered how tight catepillars
gave him a grave distaste for grape juice
and had insisted that your silken existence
had him parched for thick, red wine
when he had you gussy up your face
with post-adolescent pinks
and come down to his town fairs
across his wide bayou by ferry
when he stole your knee-length dresses
and had you mock a downed,
high-split wearing co-ed from Uni-V
when i saw you skipping merrily to the play yard
from your favored boardroom
i opened my opinion
stretched it's clumpiness into curiosity
and poured expediciously
...but quietly...
maybe i shouldn't have been...so satisfied
with your cheery passings...
to see your face a brand new shade of joy
and maybe i should have listened up and loosed his wine
so that your pillow wouldn't be stained
with those tastes he leaves behind
for through you it is proven
that loosened autumn leaves
blow whiskfully around and around by nature's cruelty
until a pausing summer breeze interrupts
to end the appropriate violence
and though you are a most splendid leaf-
the unjust laws of nature intrudes without mercy
and stays forever unchanged
no matter how much you cry
or are hurt by it all
nevertheless it was forced onto you
by your mother and mine:
'FALLING IN LOVE is way too easy to do...
i'll bet a million bucks that even now
you'll either accept or reject
these two cents on this sincere page
and won't really weigh in my meaning
yep...you'll bite the dust with the rest
my dear, I SHOULD HAVE WARNED YOU
when he moaned his first hello...
but i'm merely fresh grape juice:
too sweet and immature
to be the deliverer of bad news.
-Anarda Nashai
author of School Girl
Check out my website at:
www.anardanashai.webs.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem