An elegant kind of quietness arrives in no apparent hurry to be anywhere. I watch the narrative unfold, sometimes a stranger to those very pages whose sheaves provide the comfort of home. You, you sit facing a mirror, you love yourself so. Together, we are chess players waiting to make a move.
Somewhere a heart beat bubbling forth like cappuccino froth rises and seeks no more.
…When the afternoon sun gave us a bow
and the breeze waltzed with not a frown
when you and me and tea was what it was all about
and joy that sashayed everywhere
chasing fireflies and sand storms.
The wind is heavy with the luscious goodness of unfallen rain…leaves behave like they have no nest…the sun a truant boy bouncing off curtains long…the smell of spiced tea with cinnamon strong…me ensconced in a layer of lyrics hauled up from various cupboards of the mind…serenading the innocence of yesterdays.
you could be happy…
Does it ever happen to you …when your ‘life’ seems to acquire a ‘life’ of its own? When it recedes into it’s shell and watches the comings and goings with an avid sangfroid….waiting for something or nothing, not hurting but not forgetting either but always always wanting to hop into rain puddles, huddle around liberally sweetened hot tea, waving at sunflowers tall, straining to hear the temple bells ring at dawn, watching the passage of the waning moon and complaining to you about new red shoes and him not having called?
I hear you shut the door
Leaving perhaps for something more
I hear you climb down the stairs
Never believing that thing about immortal pairs
I imagine the letter slipped under the door
Left blank as you wouldn’t know what to say
It’s ok I’ve always read between the lines
A no is a no even when there’s no sign
soulleitmotifs 