Again
Teal runs the Scheldt,
embers fade the sunset.
Tangled my locks,
blurred my sight.
Was it the Febuary Wind?
Or the vermilion paint?
No one knows,
When night descended—
Night, this Night,
cloud-locked—
moonless, starless,
dreamless, sleepless.
Canvas, same canvas
Stayed blank—
colourless, formless,
shapeless, emotionless.
Then it comes—
the day after Valentine.
The sun would rise,
Again, like it has yesterday,
Like 16,565 times before—
So I waited, and
I’m waiting still
For No saint I seek,
but love enthralls.
For No relics I keep,
But scar unfolds.
For No crown I wear,
But heart reveals—
‘Red candles?’
‘Vanilla chocolates?’
‘Scents of perfumes?’
‘Or Pins with botox?’
Forever young,
forever pale?
Then let me be black
as a merel bird,
Write songs,
painting portraits,
For an imaginary you—
A you who knows my voice
A you who traces my brushes
A you for life.
A you always
- : :
Teal was the Scheldt,
Embers faded the sunset
Knotted was my locks,
matted was the sight
Night was cloud-locked,
Moonless, Starless,
dreamless, sleepless
Then, it comes
The day after valentine,
Sun shall rise, again
Always,
No Saint I seek,
but love enthralls.
Forever young, Forever pale?
Then I rather be black
as merels
Singing to my mate,
Mate for life….
- : :