It will be a Haiku morn:
Cloud-gray skies
and the cold of the night past-
still floating,
like plumes of unseen evening mist.
Warm smoke
And a pale, green-tea smell from the roadside cart;
Dark moss on the cobbled canal walls.
A few errant leaves will go floating by.......
Unhurried-
Rust boats on that jade-green stream.
Through the trees and the mist,
Fuji will peep: all white and faintly smoking-
An old man,
playing the Hide and Seek game,
From a childhood,
Long gone.
The cherry blossoms will cast a rose-pink shadow-
Bathed in it
I will wait-
Always.............
For you,
On that pink-drenched Rumi field.
Cloud-gray skies
and the cold of the night past-
still floating,
like plumes of unseen evening mist.
Warm smoke
And a pale, green-tea smell from the roadside cart;
Dark moss on the cobbled canal walls.
A few errant leaves will go floating by.......
Unhurried-
Rust boats on that jade-green stream.
Through the trees and the mist,
Fuji will peep: all white and faintly smoking-
An old man,
playing the Hide and Seek game,
From a childhood,
Long gone.
The cherry blossoms will cast a rose-pink shadow-
Bathed in it
I will wait-
Always.............
For you,
On that pink-drenched Rumi field.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Hi! Thanks for stopping by!