To Neruda

Posted on | November 4, 2006 | Comments Off

“What matter though numb nightmare ride on top,
And blood and mire the sensitive body stain?
What matter? Heave no sigh, let no tear drop,
A greater, a more gracious time has gone;
For painted forms or boxes of make-up
In ancient tombs I sighed, but not again;
What matter? Out of cavern comes a voice,
And all it knows is that one word “Rejoice!’”
:W.B.Yeats(The Gyres)

To Neruda

you once wrote,
that you would write the saddest poem.
you were right;
and wrong.
you wrote-
that the night was beautiful,
and the flowers blossomed,
that the lake was as beautiful still,
and perhaps it was a full moon.
but she was not there……

that she had loved you,and left,
and it was the night of a rainy day,
and the world was pretty.
and she was not there.

i would agree,
the days are as beautiful as life,
and the mornings as wet as the dew,
sunlight is yet,just as bright,
and the flowers still so beautiful.
and yet she is not there.
this is a sad poem.

is it life?
free of thunderstorms,but lightening struck?
she left me,
and no more flowers in all these flowers,
because she is not there,
no light to shine through the dark.

but yet,Neruda,
you were wrong.

WE are our saddest poems.

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