Ode to the North Wind

Ode to the North Wind

 

When the sap-time of the summer no more shimmers

among these ardent verses, gushes forth, only the hardness

of world manifests the deranged threads of a sluggish sun.

 

Deserted like some estranged songs of seabirds, once merrily

contrived by the crystallized fragments of the North Wind,

gently enclosed in the stagnant offing, ever enervating.

 

Skid on the edges of far field, the rhyming wings of those

heavenly beings, laved in crepuscular breezes, emulating

minds marvel the unseen. A mendicant mourns in silence:

                                                                                                       

“In due time, scepter of gravity will ensconce me within

his folds, immanent, vertiginous, resolute for the precursory

of a silting delight, called from doldrums, placid, effortless.”

 

2004-9-13