There is a blue fragrance, essence of dusk.
The smoke of last things lingers on old clothes.
Sun has become as rare as goldenrod.
I call for August, but no answer comes.
Autumn awaits across a worn doorsill.
I need you to make sense of falling leaves,
When death paints a rich picture ot itself,
And shadows measure out the long way home.
Excellent as always Sandra, you paint such beautiful scenes. Best wishes, Andrew x
sandraji, you are none but mother nature...... it is very difficult to find out the discription of a tree or flower from the writings of an urban writer............ you are someone livin in tandem with nature...........
we look longingly at what has gone, resist and then accept. your images are surreal and expression so very serenading, it simply enthralls and touches with its depth of meaning lots of love mamta
Scintillating with no word wasted.Thank you for sharing this gem.10 Best regards, John
The poetic imagery of the last line, tenderly touches my mind! As lengthening shadows point towards home, an eternal refuge for my chained soul! 10+ -Raj Nandy
I call for August but no answer comes- such an achingly beautiful line. that's life. how through unusual images you convey the impermanence fragility of life. sharing ourselves with someone who understands is deepest human desire. i have read it second time. your poetry grows on me as a reader. thanks Sandra Warm Regards Mamta
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Melancholic, but so sunny melancholic, Sandra! :) As in all your poems, you capture certain moments with the beauty by your soul and express it in unique picturesque lines.Just exceptional(applause! ! ! :) Best wishes and thank you. A.