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Snow is falling from Warsaw skies...
Quietly covering our sins
In the frozen parts of those broken hearts...
In the winners of thinner skins.
The chilled wind chimes, from the moments in which
The late fall's white drought begins,
Through the whispering prose of the mouths of those
Whose lips have kissed gemini's twins.
They dare to compose, from their inner flows,
And to utter that, "Silence begins
When words into birds, and hours to flowers,
Are woven as the story spins
When the swelling of songs, of rights and of wrongs,
Of the victors and their weary have-beens,
Are revealed, by the reel of frowns and half-grins,
To be missed as winter breathes in."
For there is no shame in wanting to blame
This dim-lit glow on disdain...
This loss of light, of that 'lively' fight,
Of wonderlust, withdrawn and renamed
On the cycle of living and dying... of being,
How the careless cold night overcame
The muting of flutter byes, words of all things
By the stilling of pulse and doused flame
But the rest is blessed when welcomed, just the same
For resistance is futile, at best.
The sun, in the west, is setting, as tamed,
By the shyness mother earth has expressed
Half a world away, antipodally speaking,
Basking on South Pacific waves without aim
She summers her rays, robustly seeking
Radiant ways to remember the days she became.
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Postcard from the Far East
