High Coombs.
it matters not
how bright the day is,
it´ll be no more than a tale.
a rainbow in my
window often repeats
as a small miracle.
clouds kiss
like classical lovers
framed on canvass
& disperse
pretending innocence,
remorseless, relentless,
as though they´d wanted to erase
the poetry they´d written with an
endless substitution.
Copyright robin ouzman hislop 2004
all rights reserved.
High Coombs
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Debashish
like classical lovers
framed on canvass"
captivates me too.
Robin, this poem translates very effectively the ephemeral quality of time itself and our fleeting place in it.
"clouds kiss like classical lovers framed on convass" is a stunning line.
Well done, Robin!