Season’s change

2 Oct

Do not ask me about the great truths,

myths and legends. Pluto and Plato,

Is there a difference? Do not ask me

about the world, for I know nothing.

 

Instead ask me about this fire

And the great plains it has burned

The bald wasteland it has turned

My heart into. Ask me, and I will

Paint a whole universe out of it,

Just for you and of you, a whole

World from your mere expression:

 

The confusion, worn like the waves

Of a rippling ocean on your forehead.

The lacy web of sun sprinkled in

Your hair. And your eyelashes,

The beautiful rain catchers, the droplets

You gather casting rainbows over

Your face with their spectrum.

 

Or were they tears? I do not know.

I know nothing of the world except

The miracles I witness on your face,

The Milky Way dotted around your iris.

The shadow children playing in the

hollows of your cheeks, and the wistful,

late autumn light moving across

Your face as lightly as the hay moves,

Nature’s ballet in the wind.

 

This is the uncoveted universe,

The Van Gogh-like love I would

Share with you. If only you would

Ask me to. If only. But lately even

My daydreams have betrayed me,

Abandoned me at nightfall,

Chased away by a wolf pack of

Nightmares and doubts.

 

I am a coward. For even if you would

Ask me for all the valleys, mountains

And magical chapels we have roamed

Together. If you would ask me

to map them onto your skin

with my fingertips, my heart

would not dare to speak.

 

My heart, the pale and shy being,

Thin as tissue paper, fluttering

In the warmth of your breath,

Falling breathless and doom-silent.

I do not dare to tell you of my heart.

 

So do not ask me. For there is nothing

To know in us, no dreams I haven’t

Already followed into dead-ends.

So do not ask and I’ll let you pass,

Quietly, let you take the stars

and the light, the day and night,

drain the life out of me.

 

But before you do, before my tears

Reach out to be rivers for my heart

To shrivel, and drown and die.

Before you do go, let me have this

final picture, a final wishing well.

 

Let me have your smile to stop

The plaster on my walls crumbling,

To keep my tumbling world intact,

Let me have your smile to be the

Smile of Mona Lisa, to soften

Your weather-beaten jaw line.

 

Let me have that smile. So that

When you’re gone I can go to Paris,

If only for the irony, and see the

Romantic cobble-stone streets.

So that I can go and see,

Everything else might be gone

You might be gone, but

Mona Lisa still keeps on smiling.

A little, idle scribble onto a crinkled up receipt turned out to be a poem once I had written it up, my first one in English! I’m actually Finnish but have loved England ever since I moved there two years ago. Now that I have returned to the country of snow and reindeer, I think I might have left my heart somewhere between London and Edinburgh. So if anyone sees a lonely, spare one please be kind to it and if you wanna be amazingly lovely, give it some Terry’s Chocolate Orange. Also Earl Gray. Cheers! I’ll be back one day to pick it up.

Ps. If there are any grammar mistakes in the poem, I’d appreciate if they were pointed out. : )

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