That Night

 

“… hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of life,
in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful
which God has implanted in the human soul.”
~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The night breeze reached through
the open window like furtive fingers,
intermingling with the soft music that caressed the night air:
♪ ‘mountains of sorrow and rivers of song‘ ♫

the flickering flames of candles danced,
casting mosaic shadows against the divine visage
that smiled down upon us

the bubbling of the water pipe was reminiscent
of a flowing brook, lovingly murmuring into the night
as it reflected the luminous light of the moon

There were joyful sounds of laughter in the distance
occasionally sweeping through,
intermingling with the cadence of our hearts

Your eyes, so soft, so gentle ~
when they fell upon me, they caressed my soul..

I listened to your voice
as you read to me your poetry,
and sang to me your songs,
each word delicately wrapped and held by the music ~
then gently falling upon my ears
and deep into me..

.. deep into the subtle serenity of that  night
when sleeping spirits awakened
and dormant souls revived

You closed your eyes and your heart spoke
drawing inspiration from times long past
from a place deep within the ages
channeling the wisdom of sages..

Mesmerized
I find myself falling into your spell.

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Threaded By Twilight

weavingYou weave your stories like the night,
stringing the moon with the stars;
the finest of pristine pearls,
threaded by twilight.

Weaving the finest Varanasi silk
with life as your celestial loom;
laying down gold- and silver-threaded brocade,
dormant gardens burst in bloom.

Your pen is the philosopher’s stone
turning lead hearts into gold;
manipulating structure in stunning stanzas,
inscribing on hearts in italics and bold.

Nodding in acquiescence
the sages of the ages,
will then add your magnum opus
to their papyraceous pages.

In Love With Another

 

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When the one that you love
is in love with another,
its like chasing the rain
while running for cover.

Like bridging the distance
between east and west,
knowing its still farther
from your head to your chest.

You run and you run
yet remain where you started;
but the sages have warned,
love is not for the faint hearted.

Love asks no permission
whether coming or going,
be it to stay or pass through,
like an ephemeral wind blowing.

Like a welcoming farewell,
the mixed message from your lover;
when the one that you love
is in love with another.

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A ‘not so empty’ Gift..

 

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A gift is fragrance out of breath

fled from the abode of the urn

seeking respite of a wayfaring vessel

within whom, it makes its return.

Be not daunted, open the cover,

Draw deeply from spirits fathomless well

Oh, water bearer for the soul of dry parchment,

A river of words erodes the truth a mountain can tell.

Lo, winds of wisdom for the seeking leaf

Softly turn its empty pages

Stir them not, but deliver the stillness

Spoken through the love of inner sages.

Leap not, be gently drawn

Oh, sojourner, not so soon,

Soft, the precipice waits for you to cast

From the abode of your own perfume.

Those who give, journey on

Deep in the heart of others who are given

And when the page seems dark, find the spark

When the flint of the lover strikes the Beloveds frizzen.

~ Skip Maselli
(thank you for this priceless gift)