Homage
For three thousand seasons
I searched for you
among the ancient groves of memory.
In my bated heart
I thought I'd lost you forever.
I had never spoken to you,
never held your hand,
Still, I heard your voice
in the middling brooks,
glimpsed your cherished eyes
in the tawny grass,
holding your velvet hands
to my worshipful lips.
This pain was sharper
than the journey of the Magi
for, here waited no messiah
at the end of my rainbow.
Then, at a witching hour,
your essence reappeared
on a disembodied screen,
captured, as in a surreal dream.
I would have wished upon a star
for more-something tangible.
But beggars cannot ride.
So, I settle-ancient in attitude-
hands turned palms up; a wan gesture
of my ineffable gratitude.
©Johnson Arloo
March, 2012.
Huntsville, Alabama
I searched for you
among the ancient groves of memory.
In my bated heart
I thought I'd lost you forever.
I had never spoken to you,
never held your hand,
Still, I heard your voice
in the middling brooks,
glimpsed your cherished eyes
in the tawny grass,
holding your velvet hands
to my worshipful lips.
This pain was sharper
than the journey of the Magi
for, here waited no messiah
at the end of my rainbow.
Then, at a witching hour,
your essence reappeared
on a disembodied screen,
captured, as in a surreal dream.
I would have wished upon a star
for more-something tangible.
But beggars cannot ride.
So, I settle-ancient in attitude-
hands turned palms up; a wan gesture
of my ineffable gratitude.
©Johnson Arloo
March, 2012.
Huntsville, Alabama
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