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An enigmatic poem of a lover lost, by Pramila, exclusively for Different Truths.
She was tall and elegant and languid,
A beauty with pale blonde hair,
And wistful blue eyes.
He was a great jazz guitarist
Who had read ten thousand books
And travelled ten thousand miles.
He had the wisdom of ancient men,
Always nurturing her thinking,
And broadening her mind.
Weaned from cartoon channels,
She had a tender and seductive body
And yet, the child in her never grew up.
Transparent innocence,
Great compassionate mind,
She always clangs to him,
Seeking for love and kisses,
And especially for his attention.
Nestling close to him,
She listened to the fables
Of La Fontaine
Which he narrated so beautifully to her.
She would look at the snow – capped
Mountain range while he smoked his pipe
Releasing spirals of smoke in the air,
Listening to the silence of the woods.
Sometimes, they would sail to deserted beaches,
Basking in the sun with bodies naked.
He would apply jasmine scented oil,
To her back and buttocks,
Her soft shoulders and when
His hands touched her soft breasts,
She felt a breathlessness,
She had never felt before.
The sun felt shy, like a virgin
And hid his blazing face
Behind the clouds rolling and stopping
At this sensuous sight.
Sometime, on moon – hit nights,
They would make a bonfire
On the shore, far away from
The melancholic tinkling of bells.
He would make tea for her, Darjeeling tea.
While drinking the tea, they watched
The whales diving and surfacing.
Loss in the dimness made by stars,
He touched her velvety legs.
Swept away on a tidal wave
Of sensuality, she came closer and closer,
And they made love till the early hours of the morning.
One summer morning, he leaves her,
Leaving his guitar behind.
He simply disappeared.
And yet, the sweet melody
Did not change to a sad eulogy.
The sweet music of pain played on and on.
While the thunderheads,
Rose above the horizon
And were mounting with swift strides
Through the sky,
She thought of the father.
She had lost in him,
More than the lover.
And she waited for him,
With a pain and grief
Almost beyond bearing,
While the sweet perfume of promise
Filled the air.
©Pramila Khadun
Photo from the Internet
