Seasons In Paphos - Poem by Mihaela Pirjol
5 o'clock of January's afternoon.
The chimney is incandescent with fire:
Warmth, comfort, and pleasant mood.
The sun is slow, yet rapidly weaving goodbye
At the horizon; leaving us marvelling at the train
Of its extensive, pink court-gown; to our imagination
Its nocturnal festivity: - once, our own youth -
A sense of longing for the romance of life...
It is going to be a long evening;
As usually this time of year, when January
Loves long nights by the fire, and mulled wine
Spicing the boredom with vapours of exotic flavours:
The grey, melancholic dullness of these days!
When to me - outside - is only my early-morning walk
With my dogs; greeted with a smile of Morning's joy,
Nature's freshness of air, admiring the crystalline
Dew-drops hanging frailly, yet steadfastly
On each verdant-fresh blade of grass:
January's herbage - Cyprus' Spring;
Moist and fresh, adorned with tiny, yellow
Dandelions' coronas accompanying me
Along my walk. There is a walnut orchard,
Barren of its foliage. Its trees, are undulating sensually
Their nudity in springy air, and the sun-rays are casting
A fairy light through their affectionate limbs,
As Autumn's carpet is lying irresistibly at their feet;
Hiding their fallen, forgotten woody fruits.
I taste their iodic savour, while I draw my pace
Nonchalantly, with a cheerful song in my mind,
Enchanted by such disposition of joy
Presented to my being; wandering and wondering
At the yellow-ochre, mossy-wet, almost decomposed foliage,
Yet vibrant with the memory of Summer...
I ponder at the unique beauty of each season:
How unusually are blending - all four in one!
How lovely! the orange and lemon orchards by the sea,
Are looking like freshly decorated Christmas trees!
Sometimes, even Winter is visiting us with its icy-flakes:
Fast, and with an uncommon passion, exalting the senses;
Only to disappear as furiously as it came;
Leaving us collecting hurriedly, holding its white treasure,
Watching it dissolving instantly in our palms, frugally,
As a childhood thought just forms in our minds with it...
We are just reminded how ephemeral all is, but,
We delight in the magic and beauty of all - all at once;
Leaving traces in our souls, the same way
Our breaths are altering the chemistry of atmosphere:
Invisible but present, as the freshness of a memory…
Nothing we touch with our spirit
Will ever be the same again; nor the spirit itself:
We are morphing like energy.
Comments about Seasons In Paphos by Mihaela Pirjol
Read this poem in other languages
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You