To The One Who Left - Poem by Joshua Aube
After a long holiday, you take the train
At five past five.
The green fields turn brown and the sparrows feed
It is so silent, it makes the trees outside my window
Under the galloping hoofs of time and space
But the creaking of the old window
Will complain over and over again.
And the guitar strings - they will sound in harmony
I do not know if the mirror can pull up distances
But sometimes, in the stained mirror I can see your face
Long ago, watching the ants line up to their home in a tree,
I fell asleep
I skipped a thousand generations and am born in the same world
Dear, it is not like the crooked hills wearing away,
Nor like the logs that burned during my last rites
It is not like the sound of a call dying away in the wind
Of the seas.
It is like nothing else other than the vigil of the stars,
Comments about To The One Who Left by Joshua Aube
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye