the names we call faces, things, places:
take a day worth of pain,
longing and remembrance;
take the lilies and the daffodils,
the orchids and the roses,
how they shine in the twilight
afterglow for the last time
before night --
and then suddenly their scents
intensify and prick your
nostrils and heart --
how suddenly these sweetest
creatures turn silent, mute,
when your call for a
is not answered.
At that moment, in the bitter-sweet
pang of silence, when
the yearning to be seen
is sharp like broken glass,
when we stand still listening
for a sign, wearing
our eyes out, when the moon
appears in the evening sky
and the first owl chants
its spells -- then, and only then,
we discover the mystery --
as open as the infinite sky
as raw as our need
as deep as the unstoppable
pull of love --
then, and only then,
we find out the true names
The rainbow of ecstasy bridges sky and earth
in my speaking body like a tree spanning
My hands of music spread scented cream
on your fingers, palms and arms.
Thus, my hands speak to yours
and your body resonates with
the energy of my unspoken love.
Beyond words -- deeper than surfaces --
emotions bloom amd emerge
like a lotus flower thrusting forth
Wise bodies float in silent music
and dance in starry vertigos:
there -- in the eye of the cosmos --
we meet, beyond conventions.
Why not plunge into the emerald waters
of the untold stories of this place
where nostalgia and longing
for a sweet tomorrow cross,
where the present is a strand
full of small white shells
and pebbles licked into shape
by hungry waves.
Not far away, on the beach, an old man
speaks to a girl with almond-shaped eyes
as neat as a madonna's canopy in a vineyard
where old gods lurch in waiting,
only dozing off for a while.
Soon, dawn will come.
Soon, the old gods will wake up
and reclaim their summerlands.
The wind blew. On the wooden cross landed a raven.
I scattered daisies on the lonely tomb.
The bird grew into a winged man,
he turned to me and said he was a prince.
He pledged his deathless love with his golden ring.
On his black wings we flew to his castle
Up in the mountains to his nest-castle.
I marveled at the winged prince-raven.
On my finger shone bright his golden ring.
From afar I watched the human tomb
and asked how a raven could be a prince.
He said my piety turned him back into a man.
Since I had buried the skeleton of a man,
his spirit could but soar with me to his castle
where I was deemed fit company for its prince.
Soon night would fall. Once more he would be raven
-- a curse had decreed so -- and fly yonder to his tomb;
In that sad hour, I took off his ring:
I didn't want to be a prisoner with a golden ring.
At that, the raven gave a hoarse cry, like a man.
He flew and perched on the cross, on his tomb.
Alone, I beheld the forlorn scene from the castle.
When I left, I heard the croaking raven
say goodbye. This is how I met the raven prince.
On a windy island there was once a raven prince
who gave me his deathless love with a golden ring.
He came back from hell in the shape of a raven
and hoped my love would turn him back into a man.
His black wings had served him well on the top of the castle.
Tears rose to his black eyes, as I marched past his tomb.
Truth be told, I lingered a while near his tomb.
I smiled and said goodbye to the winged prince
and prayed for his lonely fate below the stone castle.
I looked back one more time. In his beak he held the ring.
In the bay, I sat in the barge, but couldn't forget the winged man.
The wind carried a black feather across the lake: the last gift of the raven.
I cried my last tears on his tomb, as he held out his golden ring,
the lovely winged prince who dreamed to be a man,
his forlorn castle, a nest for the dreams of an enchanted raven.
Picture by courtesy of Tom Swinnen via pexels.com
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Thank you for being part of my world!