The razor wire
on top of the concrete wall
cannot mask
the ballerina-grace
of the slim palm trees,
sun-blessed green and gold and green again,
leaning into the teasing breeze
and waving their flutter-fronds
to Nature’s magical whisper-music.
I begrudge the moments
I need to look down at the page
to pen the simple words
to deposit the image
into a forever-memory
and I cannot wait
for this poem
to be over
so that I can give
my heart,
my soul,
my all,
to accepting their invitation,
to touch the wind and fly
and join their spontaneous dance.
(4 June 2013)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the lamentation for the time lost in penning the image rather than being a part of it!