In A Siesta Poem by Edmund Wong

I met Cupid the other day
Lounging alone in the tranquil park,
By the lively lake, on the soft-thatched clay,
Where love was vowed in lay by faithful larks.
In timid steps I drew near to him,
I patted his shoulder once, so fearful
That he was asleep- indeed he seemed
To be, so I waited at a distance patiently.
I waited as the lake and air were lent with gold,
Among the oblivion of children’s mirth,
The transient footsteps of humanity-
The tentative vagary of maturing youth,
The echoed assurance of fate-tethered duos,
The weighty fermata of the elderly,
And the loud festivity of families.
I waited, and waited for Cupid to be awake,
Now that the sky was grey, as if the day
Was reaching the last scene of a silent play.
But at last, at long last, Cupid budged,
He slung his bows and quivers round his neck,
Stretched his limbs and yawned in such allure
That no old woes could destroy the newfound joy.
I greeted him as one would greet a fairy or a queen,
Trembling in whole, time marched as an old maid,
I waited again, but he did not speak.
I showed him poems I wrote for love’s eternity,
Where divinity missed terrestrial grace,
But he did not look, he did not speak, as if my words
And I were airy nothing in the wind.
I told him how his mother inspired me
By the sea, and found such lines in memory:
“Welled-up Beauty, is she Venus herself
Or her incarnate? Or so I’m misled,
With winged blonde tresses flirting with the sea,
That’s how Venus looks in bikini clad.”
Upon such words he was deeply stirred,
As tender feelings wallowed from my heart,
Which by a point was hit in godly speed,
In a sizzling swirl an arrow streaked pass me,
Hitting a jogging lady squarely in the head.
Men can dream by day to dream such dreams
At night in sleep, but some sense tells me
She has more substance than dreams can make.
A sublime form immanent in sensuous flow,
That is all that I from my look could know.
The fathomless depth of spirit in her eyes,
The pearl-like purity of her complexion,
The rosy freshness of her cheeks and lips-
Those are the qualities I did not check.
I don’t know how I could see beauty so clearly,
And yet miss every aspect of its pageantry.
She ran in no less flawless motion
Than a pendulum can in freedom swing,
Bearing down on my vision to satiety.
Without much delay I did see her face-
Why, in a chord of scorn and grimaced hate!
She slapped my left cheek in Justice’s name,
Whose wrong was righted by Beauty’s fame.
“An ugly freak shouldn’t stare” and kick me
Where no man should suffer in his own dream.
“What a man to court love in such disgrace,
A poet to prove love with such humility.”
In a bitter gust Cupid flew apace,
And looking down on me he said,
“Shall we continue this another day? ”