Monday, April 12, 2010

Fool's Garden

The hour of longing is past
My Ipod stammers and croaks,
Am stuck in Pink Floyd again
As I drown in your elated disdain.
The muted lights from the highway scream
And the cafĂ© gloats in the spent night’s regime.

I should have started by asking how you are
Do you still smoke your cigar?
Your father, I heard, is in Tennessee
Do you still wear those rimmed glasses?
Or drink your coffee with molasses?
Suzy would be glad to see you here
I’m sure she would be.

I was there when she was with you
The nape of your neck long and sinew
Her arms clasped around your garland
Your eyes brimming with laughter
Her voice was a stifled hoarser
I was reading your prized novella
When she came home with your yellow umbrella.

The past is my empty house
Your famous name is visible from her torn blouse
I lie in your bastion now
The dust levitates on its creaking door
The dust of her feet awash its naked floor
Beside me the nude damsels weep
And her red chrysanthemums sleep.

I have to go, it’s getting late
The train arrives at half-past eight
I hope to see you again someday
Your fool’s garden is my yesterday
It’s a beautiful evening outside
How the stars blush like a once-lost bride!
Suzy must be sleeping peacefully.