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Posts Tagged ‘east’

The clock strikes the twelfth hour.

As the familiar sound of wind chimes signals

another year of moving on,  slow and steady.

Remembering the images of the man

within the constant, shifting revolutions

of sunrise and sundown in this woman’s life.

 

Witnessing how lifelong travels have ended,

forging across countless dinnertime of growing old.

Around the fireplace, rekindling romance.

Recalling the stories of the fishermen,

of sailors down the Mediterranean.

Of cowboys in the Wild West

and the wildlife in Africa.

Of the mystical journeys

from the sands of Arabia

to the sands of Samarkand.

 

Those intimate exchanges of lofty dreams

and grand ambitions traveling marvelous

distances of north going down south.

The eastern spring and the wintry west.

Witnessing how she listened. And almost

forgot the difference, whether it is

the story of this man’s life in the stories.

Or simple make-believe.

 

Witnessing how she wobbled achingly

at her feet standing up and lighting a candle,

whispering a prayer. Memories became

mighty flexing arms reaching out for the years.

Discovering the man who makes her laugh

and who makes her cry the silent tears.

Witnessing a love that will never grow old.

Those quiet devotion as ageless and tireless,

pacing along with the hands of time.

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Half of the world rising up

on the east welcoming sun,

watching the day unfolds.

Hoping for grace, a fresh start.

 

While, there is a nacreous pearl,

a shell of the western sky peering.

Through the ridges and ridges

of sand-covered castles in the city.

 

Orange gloom in the showers

of the sandstorm. Like an hourglass,

little diamonds in the seave.

Time slips down in a quicksand.

 

Then soon, the veil of the night,

sequined by stars melted wax

over Umm Ghuwailina.  Arabia

bends its knees reciting prayers.

 

The mind wanders away counting days

and counting nights, a farewell

meeting halfway at mid-air-

homecoming touch down years.

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I came from the east

And you from the west.

The space between us

is an empty canvas.

 

Our footsteps were

unsure scribbling of lines.

 

Our lives were

charcoal grey sketches.

 

Our beings were

liquid pigments, pressed

out of  tube-like existence.

 

Paint the words

written by fate.

Our union pre-destined.

 

Our spirits would soon

penetrate this world,

transforming our bond

from this obscure surface.

 

Like criss-crossing layers

of texture and dimension.

 

Your blood. And my blood.

A  miscegeny of colors

gradually  revealing

order and balance,

forms and figures,

sizes and shapes.

 

Blending fragiled fibers

of our soul, framed into

a work of art.

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