Torn from my dreams by grief
I swear to keep
This precious gift you gave me
Safely lodged
In that box of trinkets stashed
Close by the bedroom window.
Shutters swing out like hands
Spread open wide to snatch
The first glimmer of the sun
In a gesture of pagan prayer
Whilst night dissolves, then dies.
The morning light reveals
A glissando of many colours
Distilled in muted reverie
On lake and mountain top.
The night lamp loses relevance.
Shadows slink back into corners.
This precious gift I clasp
Out dazzles the morning light
With an intensity that burns
Beyond the powers of reason.
It cannot be cheated of beauty
By clouds or wintry weather.
Last night I searched for your photograph
Deep down in my clutter of keepsakes,
But I am sorry, I could not find it.
My love you have been away for so long
I can barely remember your face.
I think of you in India
At prayer in an ancient mosque
As the evening shadows lengthen.
Outside that guarded sanctuary
The noise and heat of the market
Stuns like a fierce narcotic.
Caught in this mayhem of commerce
I stumble from doorway to doorway
In search of that secret mosque.
But the crowds are forcing me deeper
Into a labyrinth of chaos.
Torn from my dreams by grief
I swear to truly keep
This gift of trust you gave me
Lodged deep in the layered box.
I crave for your safe return,
Until then I am dark with longing.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter
August 25th.- 26th. 2012.
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