TWO POEMS
The
bud plucked
while
in its deep dream flowering,
casts
of virgin fragrance
a
nostalgic look.
The
vision effaced
while
in its sudden dawn revealing,
casts
on the fretted screen of slumber
a
troubling dream of symbols.
The
life smothered
while
in its brief breath aspiring,
casts
in the Creation’s soul
a
maelstrom of wrong.
Amid
the mind’s drawn shutters,
in
the deep snugness, I sit and watch
the
glimmers of my day-shy dreams.
Silence-rapt,
I listen in
to
the soft flood of feelings
by
phantom gates sluiced.
Into
a beam of sense composed
I
sense my thoughts burgeon
like
silent shoots at night.
In
that Narcissus Moment, strangers
utter
my name, their veils slipping,
and
I glimpse of my vastness the Vision.