POEM

 A bit of geography:

 

A terrible noise rising and falling

Cutting through the wind. It was a

Very bad day. Only before war or during

 

its sullen aftermath, are there

Such days.

In the valley, between tree stubs, were

The bodies of long dead men. Now

Ghosts waiting for their respective funerals

With expanding stomachs and darkening

Complexions.

 

Yellow roots spreading swiftly across

The valley, protected by immense oaks. Sunshine

Filling the sky like a reflection. Succulent unbothered

Grass. The weeping

Of undiscovered winds

The call of the past.

 

In such a land centuries

Have left their spittle

Memories have faded

Like empty laughter at a funeral.

The broken, fragmented landscape

Declares human violence

And human domesticity.

Each event the examination of the one before.

 

We walked up this road

Among these ochre leaves,

Among these expanding roots,

Primary coloured flowers and swirling daffodils.

We witnessed time evaporate in the chemical

Obduracy of love. We arrived at the end,

A dusty path that rarely went straight,

And said ‘goodbye’.  In such instances, time

Ends with a caress.