garden

Pale moonlight caresses perfect landscape of death
Moss covers long drain’d well
Withered white roses and your hand
A pond of red under your head
Reflects the Moon’s face ever sad.

I enter with winds this forsaken place where time does not dwells
With short pace my eyes scry
beauty of a pale face, death from me deprived
Warm hand of wind embraces tears on my face
That will not dry
Not for all these years to face.

Feebled from injustice the time has done
Full of acrimony my mouths shout
“What is this place of lie?”
“Where can eternity die?”
In seasoned weed I repose my sigh
On earth by blood drenched my head lay.

And my tortured eyes see sky that’s grey
Dreadful silence presses me with it’s weight
I now regret I didn’t kept her eyes so gay.
All this I had betrayed...
(It doesn’t marvel me this flower holds for me hate)

Lying down in centre of this strange garden
My eyes start to wander, full of woe
Scouting a yew, from the days of yore
And it’s bark my love, and my own name wore
Like an old with time downed ward

Soon I uprose to wander this strange paths of garden
Such stillness can describe no poet
And the gray sky beclouded
I tread paths of leaves golden
And all trees seem by time rotten.
Their shadow upon my face (pale light) held’d
I leave...

2005