Spring yawns; and blossoms spill into my ear,
as winter breaks the mirror of a tear.
Eyes rhapsodize in piquant shades of blue.
Kisses fall soft as rain in morning dew.
Dawn unbraids luminous hair with a sigh,
bright filaments of light that span the sky;
and molten is the moment of return,
when roses in their whirling start to burn.
On prisms of a rainbow pirouette,
she sashays into golden silhouette
then somersaults into divinest art
as words that woo the poet’s beating heart.
A source of divination born in rows
of silken strokes of poetry and prose,
in the green palm of all eternity,
she is planted that she might flower free.
You've done it again, managed to insinuate yourself into the very heart of nature as the spirit of Spring. However, I feel the final lines might be more apt if they were to read - 'in the green palm of all eternity, she is planted that she might flower in me.
ahhh beautiful. I loved the imagery and rhythm and flow of poem BEautiful work
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
and molten is the moment of return, when roses in their whirling start to burn. a 'source' for new streams of inspirations..... thanks for being seen at PH again... Rehan