in
time
time loses minutes
like roses lose petals:
into the past, into dust
…It always rains here.
I’m walking over the
wet grass,
over the memories, soaked and heavy
the thunder stays beyond the gates.
silence settles beneath my feet.
my heartbeat,
the loudest sound, echoes from all four corners
like the shaman’s drum at sunset,
shattering the last
mirror of the day
into the stars and fireflies – sparks,
lost in darkness
I dare to whisper your name.
there are places and time when we are separated with our
names,
for names are light, they always stay above
7/9/2012 Nina K Orlovskaya
A shaman beats his drums for many reasons. To herald the dawning of a new day, the birth of a new child or the death of an elder. He also bangs his drum to ward off evil spirits and make his magic strong. When I hear the shaman's drum and I whisper your name in my mind, it fills me with wonder - with joy. Sadly, my heart weeps to think another's name caresses your lips now that I am gone.
ReplyDeletei see the telephone on your wall
ReplyDeletebut my fingers cannot reach out
to touch it
old photos
and a dark tv screen remind me
that you have gone
was that wave 'good-bye'
or were you unable to look back
over your shoulder?
it was raining
but those were tears
i know they were
it was raining
and the old phone on the wall
sleeps more soundly than we did
before you said goodbye
Hi, Benjamin and Wayne, I am so pleased that my words steered such a deep and beautiful memories and inspired you to write poetry. This is a dream of every poet, not only to write but to inspire the flow of poetry in minds and hearts of others. Thank you for giving me a gift of Muse!
ReplyDelete