Song of Green
.
The song of green and a bamboo flute, an ancient twist whose limbs embrace itself, in time, whose children are birds whose children are songs whose tunes are the colors of the rainbow mountains, all in accord with the Argentine sun waning into winter whose colors are dreamt by ice creams while parakeets and arrow birds interweave their melodies, seashell chimes percuss in the Pumamarca breeze waiting, within Om.
.
With the coming breath, approaching colors, omniscience of the green, the yogi in the sun, the flight of dreams, a yellow balloon bouncing and bubbling its brief existence down the chalky cobblestone corridor, wiry poplars shade the voices of vendors whose shawls dance ever color of the rainbow, cousins to the parakeets,
.
While a poet-mechanic repairs the language of the soul, the tapestry where every sound is a blessing, upon which every step is grace.
.
Copyright 2007, Tom Radzienda
.
Labels: Luxury of Grace
posted by Tom Radzienda | 1:15 AM
2 Comments:
Tom. I am so glad to see you again. I don't know if you will ever read it.
But once upon a time we met and than we met again and again and again. Years and countries away. In India in Thailand in different set up of life we were so much younger. Before you have decided to live a poet's life. The world was so much younger too.
There was two of me one little and one tall. One English and one Polish. One she and one he.
Do you remember still?
Or do you?
PS.
Do you remember for what could be used an old matchbox?
Dear Jane and Piotr, Why of course I remember you. We met in India, end of 1992 during the civil strife. I remember going down to Puri for a week, and being very sick along with every else. So, naturally, there is only ONE proper use for an olde matchbox. Please write to me directly if you come across this, hoping we can reconnect. My email is my first and last name, with no spaces, at gmail dot com. Much Love, Tom
Post a Comment
<< Home