Friday, September 4, 2015

Sparkling river of silence…


Sparkling river of silence…

Sparkling river of silence,
Traveler along a shadowy forest floor—
I drink deep draughts, lasting,
Of your overflowing stillness!

Tipping your goblet,
I taste your darkness
As floral wine
Swirling inside a crystal

And breathe in perfume.
Fingers of a spellbound existence         
Stop my ears.
Awe, black thief, steals my voice.

Bereft of noise, I am
Transfixed as the blood moon
Hovering, windless night,
Balanced on the sword tip of time.

The world is motionless
As my spirit moves
And my stumbling heart is filled
By a presence…and quiet…

A quiet presence.

Originally published in On the Rusk, Issue 7, page 1



Transfixed as the blood moon, hovering...

3 comments:

  1. Photo: Full Moon in Bangalore (April 2, 2007)

    Photo courtesy of netlancer2006

    Photo link: https://www.flickr.com/photos/netlancer2006/443674325/

    Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License link:
    https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/legalcode

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete
  2. The angel showed me the river of life-giving water, sparkling like crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of its street. On either side of the river grew the tree of life that produces fruit twelve times a year, once each month; the leaves of the trees serve as medicine for the nations.—Revelation 22:1-2

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete
  3. “Light” version of this poem:

    Sparkling river of silence…

    Sparkling river of silence,
    Traveler along a shadowy forest floor—
    I drink deep draughts, lasting,
    Of your overflowing stillness!

    Tipping your goblet,
    I taste your brightness
    As floral wine
    Swirling inside a crystal

    And breathe in perfume.
    Fingers of a spellbound existence
    Stop my ears.
    Awe, a thief, steals my voice.

    Bereft of noise, I am
    Transfixed as the moon
    Hovering, windless night,
    Balanced on the sword tip of time.

    The world is motionless
    As my spirit moves
    And my stumbling heart is filled
    By a presence…and quiet…

    A quiet presence.

    Gonzalinho

    ReplyDelete